When Adventures Begin
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: The introduction of a brand new AU. Still in the design stages, so feed back greatly desired.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: When Adventures Begin...  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: Aurora's M7 Adventures  
  
RATING: PG-13 (for violence, language, and some sexual indications)  
  
SUMMARY: The introduction of a brand new AU-- (I hope others will pick it up and run with it)  
  
ARCHIVE: Yes, indeedy  
  
COMMENTS: Pretty please.  
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Introduction--  
  
The end of the Civil War and the assassination of President Lincoln has left the country in a disarray of paranoia, greed, and corruption. Seeing a rich land disarmed and unprepared, evil from around the world swoops down to pick at the remains. And, at the head of this invasion, is the infamous Count Gregory; half man, half man made, the evil Count, centuries old, survives on ticking and twirling components of modern and advance technology. To keep his tech at the highest, most advance, most deadly, Gregory will go to any lengths, destroy anything, or anyone, that gets in his way.  
  
At order of the newly elected President Grant, the United States' Secret Service came into action to bring the country back to a time of peace and sanity. Under the guidance of Director Travis, they rooted out and fought back the hordes that threatened their country.  
  
But the Count was not an ordinary evil, and he would not be rooted out. Count Gregory would conquer the country... and then the world... if there was nothing nor no one to stand in his way.   
  
Thus, Team 7 was formed with one explicit purpose:   
  
Stand in Count Gregory's way.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Chapter One  
  
~~~~~  
  
Agent Buck Wilmington laughed. His big hands grabbed the woman by her little waist and pulled her close so he could nuzzle into her ample breasts.  
  
Giggling, she pushed him back across the bed, landing on top of him with such force that it knocked the air out of him.  
  
"Ooof!" Buck gasped, his eyes going wide.  
  
"Oh! Bucky!" she squealed. "Did I hurt you?"  
  
Buck laughed again, bouncing the woman on his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled until he was on top. "Don't you worry your sweet little head. Ol' Bucky's strong as a bear!" With a playful growl, he buried his face in her neck to nibble on the tender, pink flesh.  
  
"Oh?" The woman spoke with a suddenly calm, controlled voice. "Then this should prove interesting."  
  
Suddenly, several large, rough hands grabbed Buck and threw him off the bed.  
  
Stunned, he had no time to react before those same hands had dragged him to his feet and pinned his arms behind his back.  
  
Instinct kicked in then, and the Agent reacted as any other bear caught in a trap.  
  
With a growl, he slammed back against his assailants. Feeling them stumble, Buck twisted, braking free. Spinning about, he struck out at the first face he saw. Not waiting to evaluate the damage, he continued on to the second. Another quick strike, and he was moving onto the third.  
  
But the third man was ready. Leaning to the side, he allowed Buck's fist to sail by his left ear. Then, with his left hand, he grabbed the extended wrist and, with his right, grabbed his victim's armpit. Spinning, he pulled the Agent with him and slammed him head first into the wall.  
  
With a grunt, Buck Wilmington dropped to the floor, stunned and dazed.  
  
The woman rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her as she went. She came to stand over their victim and looked down her nose at him.  
  
When Buck looked up at her, she wore a strict, righteous expression. She stood tall and strong, her dark eyes hard and clear. Despite the lack of clothing, she was dressed in command.  
  
"Agent Bucklin Wilmington of President Grant's Secret Service." she spoke. It was not a greeting, not an attention getter. She was simply stating a fact.  
  
Buck braced himself up on his elbows. With a grin, he said "So, it was all business, huh?"  
  
She crouched down so as to be eye level with him. "My lord, the Count Gregory, requests your presence." she informed him.  
  
"Another man? my heart is wounded." he continued to joke. With a sigh, he shrugged. "Well, at least I didn't pay for your services... such as they were."  
  
This time the woman smiled. "Oh, no worry. You will pay. And not just with your blood, but the blood of your so-called UNITED States."  
  
Secret Service Agent Buck Wilmington's smile faded.  
  
Satisfied, the woman rose up again and turned away. With a wave of her hand, she commanded her men.  
  
The last thing Buck saw was a fist coming at him.  
  
~~~~~  
  
"Dunne?"  
  
His pencil brushed across the paper with smooth and deliberate strokes, not immediately taking form, but with definite intentions.  
  
"Mr. Dunne!"  
  
A long, smooth body with a pair of solid wings and feet... wheels?  
  
"Mister John Daniels Dunne!" snapped the teacher, slamming his crop down across the desk.  
  
J.D. Dunne's head snapped up, his bright hazel eyes peering through his jet black bangs. "Sir?" he wondered at the interruption.  
  
The Professor glared down at his student. "In case you did not notice, Mr. Dunne, you are sitting in MY class room at MY University of Massachusetts. There is line around the world of bright, young men who would gladly take your seat. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't give it to them?"  
  
J.D. frowned. He hesitated to point out to the man that his test scores were the highest in the entire university. But, he simply looked up at the man.  
  
Seeing he wasn't going to get an answer to that question, the Professor turned his glare to the drawing. Snatching it up, he demanded "And what is this, Mr. Dunne?"  
  
The boy's eyes brightened. Excitedly, he leaped at the opportunity to explain: "A mechanical bird. Someday people will fly through the skies in these mechanical birds, traveling across the country in a matter of a day... maybe even only hours."  
  
The classroom erupted in laughter.  
  
J.D. glanced around at his classmates, not understanding their amusement, though not entirely surprised by it.   
  
The Professor looked down at his student with all the superiority and self righteousness humanly possible. "Really? Why not just lean a ladder against the moon and climb on up?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
Again the students roared with laughter.  
  
The Professor folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket. "When you return to the real world, Mr. Dunne, perhaps you would like to attend class." He straightened up and glanced around at the rest of the class. "In the meantime, gentlemen, you have your assignments. I expect to see them on my desk by the beginning of our next class. Dismiss."   
  
When the classroom had emptied, the Professor sat back at his desk at the head of the room. He pulled out the picture once again and looked it over. "That just might work." he said after a long moment.  
  
"Indeed?"   
  
He glanced up at the black clad man who had seemingly appeared in front of his desk. He smiled. "General Coal." he greeted, coming to his feet.   
  
"Is he worthy of our lord's attention?" asked the General. His one good eye scrutinized the Professor, while his blind eye narrowed, bringing the two ends of the ugly scar that ripped across his face together.   
  
The teacher nodded. "The boy is exceptional. His imagination is wild, but, with the right guidance, he just might have the brilliance to make it happen." He held up the drawing. "Can you imagine? Armies, our armies, sweeping down out of the sky upon the unexpecting world. They savages would drop to their knees and pay homage to us as if we were gods!"  
  
General Coal took the drawing and eyed it. "Correction: Count Gregory's army." He turned and started for the door. But he paused. Not bothering to look back, he said "By the way... Count Gregory is a god." And then he was gone.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Chris Larabee brushed the horse down with all the care as if it was a prized stallion. 'Course, in his eyes, all his horses were prized.  
  
"Christopher?"  
  
Chris sighed. He turned away from the horse and handed the lead rope to the young girl sitting on the fence beside him. "Put her away for me, will you, Casy?"  
  
Grinning, she jumped down and started to lead the horse back to the paddock.  
  
"Christopher!"  
  
"Yes, Neddie, what can I do for you?" he asked, turning to face the elderly woman who called to him from the porch of his ranch house. He stopped when he saw who stood beside her. After a moment's hesitation, he said "Thanks, Neddie. I'll take care of it."  
  
Neddie Wells throw the visitor a glare, then returned to the house.  
  
The visitor, a graying man in a suit and over coat, crossed the yard to join Chris. "Agent Larabee. You seem to be doing well."  
  
Chris glared at the man. "I take care of my own. And it isn't Agent any more. I'm retired... remember?!"  
  
"President Grant is very fond of your work during the war. He'd like to see you return to service." Director Travis went on, ignoring the rancher's words.  
  
"Yea?" Chris chuckled. "There's a lot of things I'd like to see. Guess we're both out of luck, eh?" He started walking.  
  
Travis walked at his side. "I am putting together a special team of Secret Service agents which will have the mission of bringing down Count Gregory and his horde of evil doers." he informed him. "This team will have the complete backing of the government of the United States of America. They will be supplied with the best of everything, from weapons to transportation to men."  
  
"And what does that have to do with me?" Chris wondered.  
  
"I want you to lead this team." Travis answered.  
  
Chuckling, the rancher shook his head. "I repeat: I'm retired." He stopped when they reached the back of the ranch. There was a small garden surrounded by a little white picket fence. In the middle of the garden were two head stones. "For good reason." his last words were growled out.  
  
Travis looked at the two graves. With a sigh, he turned to face the man directly. "Sarah and Adam did not die because you weren't here. If you had been here, there would be three graves sitting there, and not two." he said softly. "Chris, you couldn't save them. But you can save others like them. Count Gregory doesn't care if who he is killing are men or women and children. He kills and kills and kills. And what he doesn't kill, he intends to enslave." He looked over to where Casy was giving grain to the horses. "No one is safe."  
  
Chris followed his gaze. Licking his lips, he asked "Why me? Why not go to some one still in service? Like Buck Wilmington?"  
  
"Agent Wilmington is missing."  
  
Chris' head snapped about to stare at the man. "What do you mean?" he growled.  
  
Again Travis faced him. "Agent Wilmington was sent to collect the transportation for the team. He never made contact." he explained.  
  
"Damn it." Chris spun away and took a couple of steps. Angrily, he shook his head.  
  
Buck was the closest thing he had to a brother. Pain in the ass, always in trouble, always draggin' him into trouble... The best man at his wedding, there the day Adam was born, took him home after Chris was wounded at Gettysburg, spent many sleepless nights keeping him from killing himself when they discovered Chris' family had been murdered...  
  
"Damn it all to hell." Chris glanced at the graves of his wife and son. Sighing, he dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Sarah." he whispered. "I know I promised not to leave again, but, it's Buck. He's gone and gotten himself into trouble again."   
  
He knew she'd understand. She always had.  
  
Chris Larabee turned back to Travis. "I pick my own men. I stay only as long as it takes to get Buck back. Then the team goes to him. Agreed?"  
  
Director Travis nodded once. "If that's your wish..."  
  
Again, Chris sighed. "Well, damn."  
  
~~~~~ 


	2. Chapter 1 continues

When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter One   
  
continues...  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ezra Standish, gambler extrodinar, stood at the railing of the balcony over looking the riverboat's casino. His sharp green eyes cased those below like a hawk hunting its next meal.  
  
There was a fat, rich woman swinging her purse about and handing out cash like candy to a couple of pretty boys, probably her sons, both of which attacked the craps table as if there was no tomorrow. A couple of the casino girls attempted to get close, but, though she was generous with her money, the mother was not so generous with her sons. Like a bulldog, she'd chase the girls away, whimpering and cowering. In addition, she kept her boys away from the card tables. Apparently the rich mamma was a bit protective.  
  
Ezra shrugged. So, they'd lose their money at the craps rather than at cards. A little less would end up in his pocket, but some would, none-the-less, come to him.   
  
A Yankee Colonel and his staff... but the commander stayed away from all games and heavy drink, and the staffers... well, not even Yankee staff was paid worth a damn.   
  
Not worth the gambler's attention.  
  
A few field hands just come in from payday... But, sure as Southern bells ring, they'd already been worked over and not have more then a pinch in their pockets.  
  
Again, not worth Ezra's attention.  
  
"There." was whispered in his ear.   
  
He didn't need to look to know that it was his mother as she leaned up against his back, her chin resting on the back of his shoulder. He didn't need any further direction, either, to spot what his mother had. "The Brit in the corner." he observed, noting the elegantly dressed man.  
  
For the past hour, he had sat, sipping at scotch, playing solitaire; Alone, for the exception of his valet that stood behind him. Several times he had been approached and invited to a game, but, each and every time, his man servant had stepped forward and declined the offer.  
  
It had been the same every night for a week.  
  
"He is our mark." Maude Standish whispered excitedly in her son's ear.  
  
Ezra looked at her then. "You have decided this?" he asked, weary of her motives.   
  
Obviously the man had money, but, just as obvious, he was not going to part from it easily. If at all. And his mother was not one to `work' for anything THAT hard.  
  
Maude looked at her son with a very serious expression. "Our employer wants what he has and will pay generously for it."  
  
"YOUR employer." Ezra corrected, looking back at the Brit. Not that it matter who's employer. Fact was, the Count held his mother under his thumb... and she thanked him for the privilege. And as long as he had Maude, he had her son. Despite his self belief that he was unattached to the woman, she was his mother. By that fact, Ezra Standish was trapped.  
  
"Have some respect, Ezra Standish. The man has set you up in this fine establishment, protected you when them damn Yankees came a lookin' for Johnny Rebs to hang..."  
  
"Which I will be repaying to the end of time for." Ezra sighed. "And just how do you suggest I get a sit down with that man? He isn't exactly the welcoming type."  
  
Maude leaned up against his back again, reaching around to hold something for him to see. "Be some one he will want to welcome." was her suggestion.  
  
Frowning Ezra took the documents and quickly glanced them over. Again he sighed. "And just what am I supposed to be getting from him?" he wanted to know.  
  
This time Maude frowned. "It's called the Aurora."   
  
Ezra glanced at her. "And that is?"  
  
Maude matched his look. "Does it matter?"  
  
His eyes narrowed. After a moment, he concluded that she didn't know the answer either. Thus... "No, it doesn't." Tucking the papers into the pocket of his vest, he turned away from his mother and headed for the steps that would take him to the floor below.  
  
With precise movements that told the workers of the casino that the game was afoot and that they should all keep their eyes open, Ezra Standish crossed the large deck until he was standing in front of the Brit's table.  
  
Instantly, the valet stepped forward. He spoke with a thick french accent and far too quickly for a the manner of calm he was supposed to be portraying. "My apologies, sir, but my master is not accepting..."  
  
Ezra drew the documents and handed them to the valet.   
  
The Frenchmen glanced at them, then handed them back to his master.  
  
A quick glance, and the Brit waved his hand. "That will be quite alright, Passpartout. Allow him a seat at my table." he spoke with cold, even tones.  
  
His valet quickly stepped aside and held out a seat for the gambler.  
  
With every bit of elegance and grace that his host was offering, Ezra glided to the seat and floated down. With a slight smile, he tilted his head in greeting.   
  
The Brit eyed him. "Well, we were beginning to wonder just how grateful your President Grant really was to be receiving this gift from our queen." he noted. Then, in quite contrary tone, he snapped off in a hushed manner "Just what the bloody hell took you so long, Mr. Wilmington?!"  
  
~~~~~  
  
J.D. Dunne slaunched his way down the trail, kicking at rocks here and there as he went. Another fine day in the reign of higher education. And, worse, that damn professor took another one of his drawings. Held him up in front of nearly the entire school as the joke of America.   
  
Like any of them had a clue!  
  
Sighing, J.D. turned his eyes skyward, watching for stars through the branches of the maple trees. His mother always told him to look up at the stars. Even when she was sick and dying, she told him to watch the stars...  
  
Oh yea, and go to college.   
  
Anne Dunne had worked hard all her life, putting away pennies, even when she, herself, went hungry, saving for her son's education. She had been the only one who had never made fun of his dreams and the little gadgets he would design. She once told him that he could see what others couldn't, that he could see the possibilities.  
  
Possibilities that were laughed at as the musing of the wild imagination of a daydreamin', going-no-where student. The joke of the University of Massachusetts.  
  
Funny, J.D. thought to himself, that the one place he had trouble seeing the stars is the one place his mother had told him to go.  
  
"John Daniel Dunne." It wasn't a greeting, nor an attention getter. It was simply a statement of fact.  
  
J.D. spun about to see a figure standing behind him on the trail. "Hello?" he called.   
  
It was a large figure, tall with broad shoulders. Powerful. Intimidating. His strong voice seemed to vibrate through the world until it hammered into the young man. "My Lord has heard of you. He is impressed."  
  
J.D.'s eyes narrowed. "Yea? Well... thanks." he answered, weary of anyone who wanted to meet him on a dark path between classroom and dorm in the middle of the night.  
  
The man slowly approached. "You have a wondrous mind. Full of insight." he explained in an almost friendly tone. "My Lord enjoys giving aid to brilliant, young upstarts like yourself. Giving them the backing, financially and whatnot, helping them create and achieve, make a new world for all."  
  
Despite his unease, the young student couldn't help but be tempted by an opportunity not to be laughed at. Shucks, forget being laughed at. This guy was offering to help him!  
  
But, still, he picked an odd and suspicious time to approach him. And there was the question... what was in it for his Lord?  
  
The figure approached another step. "You have questions." he observed. "That is good. Curiose minds are what we are looking for. But time is short and you must answer me now. Come with me and you will be given every opportunity to follow every dream and project your imagination can come up with."  
  
"And if I decide to walk away?" J.D. tested.  
  
The man spread his hands. "Then you walk away. And continue your studies in law, allowing your imagination to be stomped out by the laughter of ingrades who have neither the desire nor the intention for the world to be anything more than it is." With a tilt of his head, he added "The choice is yours." What he didn't add was that he had orders to take the boy whatever his choice.  
  
J.D. glanced back up the trail. He could just barely see the lights of his dorm. A ten by twelve room with one window that took up most of one wall, a little desk, a bed and a clothing trunk. The halls were filled with men, all older, all wiser, all arrogant, and all who wanted nothing to do with the kid... unless of course they wanted a good laugh. That was all that he had to call home.  
  
That... or this unknown?  
  
Sighing, J.D. looked back at figure. With a shrug, he asked "When do we go?"  
  
~~~~~  
  
Buck's world had become one of burning fog. Eyes open, eyes closed, it made no difference. Even the air on his skin felt as if it was fire. The cuffs and chains that suspended him from the ceiling long ago turned from pain to numbness.  
  
"Interesting sensation, isn't it?" observed his interrogator, the same woman who had lured him into the trap.  
  
Through the red haze, Buck could make out her outline standing a few feet in front of him.   
  
Something flickered in her hands. It was becoming a farmilar flicker.  
  
Despite his pain, Buck chuckled. "Hell, ain't nothin' new here. Just like hangin' around ol' Arizona and gettin' myself a tad sunburn." His voice was raspy and strained.  
  
The woman jabbed the flickering stick at him, striking the tense muscles of his abdomen. The hot coal end sizzled, burning flesh.   
  
Buck's teeth gritted as he tried not to cry out. But a grunt still escaped.  
  
Pressing close to him, the woman hissed "You live at my Lord's pleasure. If you wish to continue to live, you will continue to please him!" She pressed the coal into his flesh harder as if making her point.  
  
The Agent's eyes squeezed closed, tears escaping from the corners. The stinch of burnt skin filled his nostrils and he choked.  
  
The woman stepped away again, taking the hot coal with her.   
  
Buck collapsed with relief, breathing in great gasps.  
  
"We know that your tyrant Grant has formed some secret army... a police force of sorts." she told him. "We know that some of your fellow agents have been gather with the specific duty to get in our way." She paused and Buck could almost feel her smirk. "Pity for them." Then her voice turned hard again and she glared at her prisoner. "I ask again: Who leads this group? Who are the members assembled under him? What do they know of my Lord? Of Count Gregory?"  
  
Agent Buck Wilmington smiled. His smile grew to a chuckle. And his chuckle grew into a laugh.   
  
The woman stared at him for a moment. Then, with a snarl, she whipped her weapon about, slapping the hot coal across his face.  
  
Buck gasped as his face was sliced open with the hot coal.  
  
Breathing hard, she struggled to keep her temper under control. Finally she snarled. "Perhaps I have been promising the wrong existence." she snarled. Leaning close, she hissed "Answer me and I will kill you. End your suffering."  
  
The Agent tried to shrug, but the chains held him still and taunt. "Suffering? Shucks, I been hurt worse fallin' over a log."  
  
Her hot breath was agony as it blew across his abused skin: "Suffering? That wasn't suffering, ol' Bucky." her light fingers ran up his rib cage. "You have yet to feel suffering." she promised.  
  
Buck couldn't help but gulp.  
  
~~~~~ 


	3. Chapter 2

TITLE: When Adventures Begin...  
  
CHAPTER: Two   
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures  
  
RATED: PG  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~  
  
Chapter Two  
  
~~~~~  
  
The Aurora turned out to be a large dirigible, an air ship. A gondola lifted by a huge sky blue balloon and propelled by a whisper quiet propeller engine at its tail.  
  
The gondola was oval shape, 120' from nose to tail, 40' from bottom to top. It had three stories.   
  
The lower story contained the engine room, water storage and boiler, and storage compartments.   
  
The second floor held the common areas: in the back was the tiny kitchen and a tinier lab, and, larger than either of those two, an armory; the center was a large open area that consisted of the dinning room, study/library, and sitting room; beyond that, at the front of the ship, separated only by a folding wall which was now folded back and tied down, was the bridge and mapping room; the front walls of the bridge was completely glass for the exception of the steel framing of the french doors that opened out to the observation deck.  
  
The third and top most floor was the sleeping quarters: four two-bunk rooms in the middle, two on either side; and two comfortable sized cabins, side by side, at the front of the ship. At the back was a state of the art bath/shower room and a tiny infirmary.  
  
Each room was elegantly furnished, most of which was polished black oak. The walls were all polished redwood paneling from the California coast, as were the bookcases and the wall clocks. In the mapping room there was a wall clock for each time zone, and below each a toprigraphical map of each zone. The steering ball sat in the center of the bridge with full view out the massive windows. Beside it stood a thick cabinet, table higth, with a glass top. Beneath the glass top was a large compass and maps of their current area. Each room was lit by large, thick windows, vents below every other window allowed fresh air to circulate through out the ship. At night, each room was lit by gas lamps fueled through lines in the walls of the gondola. The stove and oven in the kitchen were also gas fueled. Water pipes, specially coated to resist rust and freezing, ran to both the kitchen and the bath/shower room.  
  
Ezra Standish stood in the main entry in the sitting room and stared at the wonder. "So... this is the Aurora." he breathed in admiration.  
  
"Aurora Class." the brit, Lord Phileas Fogg, corrected. He walked around the room, running his fingers across the polished coffee table. "She was designed after the original Aurora, though suited, of course, for many more occupants than me own dirigible."  
  
Ezra tilted his head in acceptance of the correction. "It is quite the... gift." he observed. He stepped into the ship and slowly walked around, taking in every little detail. A thought came to him. Who said he had to deliver this prize to the Count? He could take to the sky and make his own escape, flying up and out of the reach of that damn Count and anything else that would try to run him.  
  
Fogg turned to face him. "I'm curious, Mr. Wilmington." he said, sitting down at the dinning room table. "You haven't asked about your crew."  
  
The gamblers emerald eyes narrowed. "My crew?" he repeated.  
  
"Your crew!" was snarled in his ear from behind.  
  
Ezra spun about to come face to face with a tall, black clad man. his breath caught in his throat.  
  
"What's the matter, Buck?" Chris Larabee continued. "Didn't expect me back on the job?"  
  
Lord Fogg crossed his legs, excepting a glass of brandy from his valet. "Really, sir, how incompetent do you think the world's secret services are?" He waved a hand in the air. "We do, you know, on occasion speak to one another."  
  
Ezra remained silent, his mind racing, trying to figure a way out of this one. Damn the Count! Damn his mother! Damn, damn, damn...!  
  
"Passpartout, it seems our friend is at a loss." Fogg observed with a smirk. "Would you be so kind as to make the introductions?"  
  
The little frenchman grinned, obviously enjoying the show. "Sir, Captain of the United States first, and thus far only, Aurora Class dirigible, Agent Chris Larabee."  
  
"That would be the rather upset man standing before you." Fogg pointed out with a wave of his glass. He too seemed to be enjoying himself.  
  
"To Master Larabee's left is the well traveled Agent Josaih Sanchez." Passpartout continued.  
  
Sanchez was a huge man, though not so much in higth. His shoulders, chest and hips were wide, his arms and legs thick with muscles. Despite his huge, intimidating frame, his eyes were almost kind as was his gentle smile.  
  
"Master Nathen Jackson, me believe, is the corman." Passpartout nodded to a young negro who leaned against to entrance to the hall.  
  
He was a handsome man with chocolate skin tone, dark brown eyes, and short black hair. Ezra didn't miss the blue uniform. Though it had no rank or any other identifying ensign, it was obviously a yankee uniform.  
  
"Lieutenant Vincent Tanner is the pilot." the valet introduced.  
  
"Lieutenant no more." spoke a man standing in the entry to the bridge, his arms crossed over his chest. A combination of his long dusty blond hair, buckskins, and accent labeled him as clear as if he was he was wrapped in the Texas flag. The sawed of shotgun strapped to his hip and the boot high moccasins were just added detail of that fact. "Jus' plain ol' Vin will do." he said, pushing his hat back on his head.   
  
"My... crew." Ezra said softly. "Of course..."  
  
Chris slammed his shoulders suddenly, pinning him back against the bookcase. "Who the hell are you and where the hell is Buck Wilmington?!" he roared.  
  
~~~~~  
  
J.D. tugged on his collar. "Didn't know a little backing included a uniform." he grumbled. "I'm never gonna get used to this." But, with a sigh and a glance out the port window of his little room, he was reminded why, for the last three days, he stayed.  
  
He was flying!  
  
Well, actually the Permetheuse was flying.   
  
The huge air ship was under the command of General Coal, the same man who had stopped J.D. on the dark trail only a few nights before, who had brought him here to float among the clouds. The General had said it would be inspirational.  
  
J.D. glanced about his room. The walls were covered with drawings and diagrams and tidbits of ideas. He smiled. "Guess he was right."  
  
His stomach growled, reminding him he had yet to visit the cafeteria. With one last tug on his collar, he hurried out of his room, closing the door behind him.  
  
It took him a total of five minutes wandering the metallic halls to become completely lost... again.   
  
"Damn it!" J.D. hissed to himself, leaning against the wall.   
  
He didn't want to ask directions again. Asking anything generally earned him a glare from the crew... one he was sure included such thoughts as `What the hell is this idiot kid doing here?' J.D. was sure that the only reason they even endured his presence was because the General had ordered it... And no one crossed General Coal!  
  
A soft cry...  
  
J.D. glanced about.  
  
A faint scream.  
  
He pushed away from the wall and glanced about.  
  
Again, the faint scream.  
  
J.D. frowned at a slightly opened door leading down a hall.   
  
Sounds were coming from behind that door. Cries, groans... of pain.  
  
He knew he shouldn't go, knew he'd get in trouble for being where he shouldn't be.   
  
But... curiosity? concern?   
  
J.D. glanced around, making sure there was no one to see, then pushed the door open just enough for him to slip in.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Buck collapsed forward against his manacles, gasping for air.  
  
His torturer angrily paced in front of him. The steel heals of her thigh high, black leather boots sparked as they struck the steel floor. Her striking red hair was pulled back in a baraid that laid down her back in striking contrast to the tight, black leather vest. Her bare arms were crossed over her chest as she shook her head. One hand patted the bloody blade of her Bowie knife against her arm.  
  
Despite the agony that raked his body, Buck Wilmington chuckled.  
  
She stopped, her eyes snapping about to look at him. Not glare with anger or stare with curiosity. She simply looked at him with absolutely no emotion what so ever.  
  
It took all his strength to lift his head enough to see her. But his smile came easy enough. "Boy, have you ever screwed up." he choked out. His head dropped, spitting out blood.  
  
Placing the flat of her blade under his chin, she lifted his head for him. "You think so?" Her gray eyes fluttered. "In case you haven't noticed, you are the one bloodied up and in the hands of your supior enemy."  
  
Buck continued to smile. "I hand my hands on you." he reminded her. His eyes glanced down, then up again, looking her over. "Trust me: we wouldn't waste actual working hours getting our hands back on you."   
  
Her eyes flared with sudden and violent a anger. With an animalistic growl, she yanked her knife hand back, across her body and slammed her hand back down, striking him across the face. Her knuckles ripped his cheek open, smearing blood across the back of her hand.  
  
Smirking, she watched his head snap about, then dangle as if dazed.  
  
But, after a moment, he chuckled again. "By the way... I'm not the only one bloodied."  
  
She glanced down at her hand and then the bloody splatter the knife hand left on her arm. With out a word, she spun about and stomped out of the cell, slamming the bar door behind her.  
  
As soon as she was gone, so was Buck's smile.  
  
With a loud groan, he let his head fall forward. Everything hurt. He was burned, slashed, beaten. Most of his clothing laid in torn and bloody strips on the floor.  
  
She was right... he had really screwed up.  
  
But, then again, he had yet to give her anything she wanted, answer any of her questions or demands.  
  
Guess they were both screwed.  
  
There was a clank.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Buck lifted his head, expecting to see her return.  
  
But it his torturer.  
  
It was a boy. Dressed in the same black uniform as the his guards had been, but his had no insignia indicating rank or assignment. Despite shoulders that indicated that he could, eventually, be a good, strong man, he was small, slim... as if he had spent time... a lot of time... hungry. Shaggy, ebony black bangs laid over his forehead. Bright, curious hazel eyes watched him intently through the bars.   
  
It were those eyes that caught Buck's attention. So big, so bright, so... innocent.   
  
And concerned! The boy was concern for what he was seeing: a stranger in agony.  
  
`What the hell was a kid like that doing in a the belly of this hell beast?' Buck wondered. Out loud, he mumbled in disbielf "A kid. just a kid."  
  
"I'm not just a kid!" the boy suddenly spoke up defensively. As soon as the words were out, he blushed and backed away again.  
  
Buck instantly felt the need to protect this boy. Looking at him as if he was a fellow prisoner, needing to be rescued from these evil bastards.  
  
"Who are you?" came the boy's soft, shy voice.  
  
Buck eyed him. It had been the same question asked by that hellish woman a hundred times.  
  
Of course she knew who and what he was. She just wanted to get at least one question answered.  
  
And now this boy asked it.  
  
And, without second thought, Buck answered him. "Bucklin Wilmington, Secret Service Agent of the United States of America."  
  
Again the boy edged forward, encouraged by Buck's calm and gentle tone. Hands on the bars, he leaned against them. "Secret Service Agent? What's that?"  
  
"I work for President Grant. I fight to keep him and the Union safe and whole."  
  
The boy frowned. "But the war is over."   
  
Buck smiled. "The South isn't the only enemy the Union has, boy." Then his smile faded. "Your boss for instance..."  
  
A tight, painful grip grabbed the boy's arm and whipped him around, slamming him back hard against the steel bars.  
  
"Ow!" the boy protested. He started to push back, but he was again slammed into the bars.  
  
With a sudden surge of strength, the prisoner slammed against his chains. "Get your fucking hands off of him!" he yelled.  
  
The woman glanced over the boy's shoulder, eyeing her prisoner. With a slight smile, she turned those evil gray eyes back to the boy. "My my.... now we get a rise out of him. And just who, pray tell are you?"  
  
"J.... J.D... ma'am." the boy stuttered.  
  
"Get your hands off of him, Margarita!" General Coal growled as he stepped out of the same hall.  
  
Her eyes darted to him. "Ah... I see." She smiled down at the boy in her grasp. "You are the General's new pet." She pressed her body up against his, pinning J.D. to the bars, Holding her face close to his ear and breathed in deeply. "So sweet the fragrance of such a little thing. I'd bet that you are soooo juicy." she hissed, snapping her teeth at the end of the last word.  
  
"Margarita!" General Coal snapped.  
  
Smiling, she leaned back. With little more than a flick of her wrist, she threw J.D. aside, dropping at the General's feet. "Have your pet, General."  
  
Coal glared at the woman with his one eye, before reaching down and dragging J.D. to his feet. "Go back to the main hall, John, and wait for me." he ordered.  
  
"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean..." J.D. started.  
  
"Do as I say!" the General snapped, pushing the boy back behind him.  
  
With head hung, J.D. started off. But then he paused to glance back at the prisoner.  
  
Buck offered the boy a slight smile. `Don't worry, kid.' he silently assured. `I ain't leaving without you.'  
  
Then J.D. spun about and ran back the way he had come.  
  
Once his ward was out of ear shot, the General turned his full attention to the woman. "If you harm that boy in the least of ways..."  
  
"Don't bore me, Coal." Lady Margarita chided. "You have your methods and I have mine." She turned those gray eyes on the General. "Have your pet, smart and brilliant as I am sure he is, thinking of all the possibilities Count Gregory just might, maybe, be interested in. While I have my own." Her eyes turned back to her prisoner. "No maybes. Simply, hard facts."  
  
General Coal also turned to the prisoner. "Facts which, apparently, are difficult to get to." he observed.  
  
Margarita spun on the man. "Be assured, General, that you're pet is safe from me... as long as he stays away from my pet!" she promised in a cold, sharp tone.  
  
The General's eyes narrowed. but he had nothing to say to the woman. She had said everything. Fact was fact. If the boy got in her way again, she would kill him.   
  
Of course, then he would kill her... but that was beside the point.  
  
General Coal turned and walked away.  
  
Margarita watched him go. Then she returned to Buck. "Well, nothing like a little visit to re-energize one. Don't you think?"  
  
~~~~~  
  
As soon as J.D. saw him, he started apologizing to the General. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean any trouble. I just heard some one yelling. I thought they needed help. Honest, I did mean..."  
  
Coal laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, silencing him. "It's alright, John. No blood shed." he said, turning J.D. away and started him down the hall.  
  
"No blood?" J.D. repeated, shocked that that was assurance. "That man was covered in blood. He'd been hurt.... tortured." The last word hit him hard as he realized that that was indeed what had happened to the prisoner. "Who is he? Why was that done to him?"  
  
The general stopped then, turning the boy around to face him. "Understand, John Dunne, that that is a very dangerous man. Released, he would do everything humanly possible to bring us down. Do you understand?"  
  
J.D. frowned. "But we want to build a better world. Why would he want to destroy that?"  
  
"Everyone has their own idea of what is best for the world." Coal explained. "Generally it is based on what they, themselves, want. A world based on an individual's wants does not fit everyone's needs." He stepped back, straightening. "Count Gregory's plans for the world are based on the needs of all. This isn't the vision others have. Thus, they fight to stop it."  
  
"But she was torturing him!" the boy protested.  
  
The General took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Have you ever heard the phrase `have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet'?" When J.D. nodded, Coal continued: "Sometimes you have to brake a few people to make world." He shrugged. "That man is part of a secret army with designs on our patron, Count Gregory. It is Lady Margarita's duty to find out whatever she can about this army so that we can defend ourselves and our ideals from their attack."  
  
"But..."  
  
General Coal's grip tightened slightly on the boy's shoulder. "No more questions, young John. No more doubts. Good guys, bad guys.... we can all fall from curiosity." He smiled, blinking his one eye. "Now, I did not see you in the cafeteria for the morning meal. and it is falling late for even the afternoon meal. I want you to go and eat. Then return directly to your room and continue your work. Understood?"  
  
Though his frown remained, J.D. nodded.  
  
"Good." General turned and started away.  
  
"General Coal, sir?"  
  
He paused, turning back.  
  
J.D. hesitated. But he had the courage for one more question: "How do I know you're the good guys?"   
  
The General's one eye narrowed, but he smiled. "Because I told you." he answered, before continuing on his way.  
  
J.D. Dunne continued to frown.  
  
~~~~~  
  
tbc 


	4. Chapter 3

TITLE: When Adventures Begin...  
  
CHAPTER: Three  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures  
  
RATING: PG-13 (for few harsh words thrown in and violence)  
  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
  
FEEDBACK: Pretty Please! I had a tough time writing this chapter.   
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Three~~  
  
Vin Tanner rolled the steering ball gently forward and the Aurora Class dirigible began its slow, barely notable decent.  
  
Passpartout smiled proudly. "Your a very good learner, Master Tanner."   
  
Vin glanced at him. "You can drop the master bit, Passpar... Passpar... Damn, texas toung just won't twist about for them fancy French names."  
  
The little Frenchman's smile grew. "I knew a Texas man that has called me Frenchy. You can do that if you wish Master..." He stopped when Vin's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Vin works... Frenchy." he answered with a friendly nod and a smile of his own. Turning his eyes back to the view before them, he added "One man callin' another master never did sit well with me."  
  
For a moment the two stood side by side silently. But then Passpartout was, as always, curious. "I would be wondering..."  
  
"Nothin' wrong with that." Vin filled in the hesitation.  
  
The Frenchman grinned at that. "Texas is in the South, sir. Wouldn't you have been fighting for the use of that word?"  
  
"Texas ain't the South, Frenchy." Vin answered a little too calmly. "It ain't the North, not mexico or America or anywhere else but Texas! And the war was about a lot of things. Sure thing slavery was one of those things and sure not a little one. But it was one of many. And not all the good points were had by the North."  
  
"Were you in the war, Mas... Vin?"  
  
Vin glanced at him, then away. "Yea... yea, I sure was."  
  
"What side?"  
  
Again a quick glance. "Well, now, frenchy, I'd like to think I was on the right side."  
  
Passpartout waited for clarification, but when nothing more was offered he opened his mouth to ask.  
  
"Passpartout." Lord Fogg called, a little sharp, to his man. When the valet spun about, Fogg held up his empty brandy glass. He was sitting at the dinning table with Chris Larabee.  
  
"Oh, yes, Master." Passpartout hurried across the room to the liquor cabinet and returned to refill his glass.  
  
When he was close, Fogg hissed at his man "Leave it be, Passpartout."  
  
The velvet blinked, startled by the order. But, with next blink, he smile and nodded, accepting the fact that, what he didn't understand, his master surely did, and that was good enough for him.   
  
"This is absurd!" Ezra Standish protested as he watched the valet move away.  
  
"I agree." Chris responded, picking up his pistol and cocking it.  
  
Ezra stiffened, but managed to resist the urge to react further. Instead he looked to the Brit. "You, sir, are an educated man of class and breeding. How can you restrain yourself under this onslaught of the brilliance of this dimwitted cowboy."  
  
Lord Fogg rubbed his chin, then shrugged. "I take into consideration what influences such behavior." he smiled, a hard, cold expression. "Personally I would of introduced myself by shooting your kneecaps."  
  
That made Ezra flinch.  
  
"Again..." Chris brought attention back to himself, tapping the captured papers on the table top. "Where did you get these papers?!"  
  
The gambler sighed. How many hours were they going to drag this on? As is, he had been standing in the same place, in the same position, without relief for more than six hours. At least they had tied his hands in front rather than behind. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and rather upset that he had allowed his mother to get him into this situation in the first place.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he started again. "As I have informed you time and time again: I do not know this Buck Wilmington. I acquired the identification papers as a result of, as I have come to understand it now, an ill-fated game of chance."  
  
"Cards?" Fogg asked for clarification. After all, for him anyway, games of chance came in many forms, styles, and dangers.   
  
"Yes." Ezra answered coldly.  
  
"Who had the papers before you?" Chris asked again, repeating the exact same questions as he had the last several times they had gone through this exact same story.  
  
"A woman." the gambler answered with a tired sigh. "One of the casino girls." Which was true enough. He was careful not to right out lie. Truths, even if only half truths, were easier to remember, to make sound more genuine.  
  
Fogg leaned back in his chair. He swished his brandy, watching the liquor splash up the sides of the crystal glass. It was time to disrupt the pattern of questions. "What did you wager against these papers?" he asked.  
  
Ezra's eyes narrowed. What a worthless question. Why would he ask... He shrugged, leaving that off as his answer.   
  
Looking over the top of his glass at the prisoner, Fogg smiled. "It is a simple enough question with an easy enough answer. What did you wager against Mr. Wilmington's papers?"  
  
The damn Brit wasn't going to let it go. Ezra had to have an answer. "A five piece." he threw out. Not knowing what the man was looking for, he could only hope that that was good enough.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
"Reputation is everything to a professional gambler. Who you toss cards in with dictates who will toss in with you in the next game." Fogg explained. "You are a professional gambler and you waste your time betting a five piece against papers of a man you claim to know nothing about in a game of chance with a penny flipping casino girl?" Lord Fogg set his glass down on the table. "You are lying about one of two things: one, you knew exactly what and where those papers would get you, deciding it was worth the risking of your professionally; or, two, you received these papers in an entirely different manner than your tale tells."  
  
Ezra said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had been caught. Damn brit just wouldn't let it go!  
  
Chris tapped the table top with the barrel of the gun, reminding the two men of his presence.   
  
Fogg smiled slightly, picking up his glass again.   
  
Ezra watched him for another breath, re-evaluating his threat, before his eyes shifted to the gunman.  
  
Chris tilted his head to one side. "So... which is it?" he wanted to know.  
  
The gambler kept his eyes on Chris, worried about what the Brit would see in him if he glanced in that direction. "I... was informed that the papers of subject would be the card needed to sit at Lord Fogg's table. He had turned down so many offers that he had peeked my curiosity. A gambler does not often come into my casino and not play."  
  
"Your casino?" Josiah spoke up for the first time from his spot in the corner behind the prisoner. "The River Lady?" He stepped around to face Ezra. "You run The River Lady?" he repeated.  
  
Fogg's eyes narrowed as he straightened up in his seat. "Count Gregory runs The River Lady." he said softly, not understanding what the big man was getting at. Like Ezra, he didn't like questions he, himself, did not have the answers to.  
  
"The Count `owns' The River Lady." Ezra glanced at the Brit. "I run The River Lady." he finished.   
  
Chris glanced from gambler to gambler, then to his man. "Your point, Josiah?" he prodded.  
  
Josiah was frowning. "Hermes." he said simply.  
  
Ezra's eyes snapped to the man. They widen slightly in surprise. "Mercury." he answered  
  
"I'll be damned." Josiah cursed.  
  
"Of no fault of my own!" Ezra responded. He held his hands up.  
  
Josiah pulled a knife from his belt sheath and cut the ropes that had bound the prisoner's hands.  
  
"Excuse me?" Fogg set his glass down again, more than a little disturbed at this change of events. "An explanation please?"  
  
" Shit, please!" Chris growled, slowly rising to his feet. "What the hell are you doin', Josiah?"  
  
"Ever heard of Mercury?" Josiah asked.  
  
Fogg shrugged. "Messenger of the gods. Greek mythology."  
  
Chris ground his teeth, damning himself for not seeing it. "Mercury! During the war we were getting intelligence about outside influences from a double agent called Mercury. Everything the British, Germans, Russians, and everyone else sent to the South..."  
  
Fogg was understanding now. "It was Count Gregory who made the connections. For someone to be able to get that information to the North, he would of needed to be on the inside of Count Gregory's operation." He stared at the gambler. "You are on the inside?"  
  
Ezra glared at him. "Do you have any idea what jeopardy you are putting my position in?" he demanded. "If I do not return with this vessel and present it to the Count, I will no longer be on the inside!"  
  
This Lord Fogg did not like. Rising to his feet, he let everyone know "I will not allow that evil ... damnation to lay hands on this dirigible!"  
  
"I don't give a damn about this balloon!" Chris snapped. "I want my man back. And I want to sink the bastard who took him! Make sure he doesn't mess with us again." He shoved a finger at the gambler. "Gregory or someone has to come and get this thing, right? Who? When? Where? How?"  
  
Ezra glared at him.   
  
Josiah laid a hand on the gambler's shoulder. "Fact is, brother, there's no cover left to protect. Either come out now, or go down with the bad guys."   
  
Ezra sighed. "Have you heard of the Prometheus?"  
  
~~~~~  
  
Maude Standish paced across her son's posh office, wringing her hands nervously. "Damn it, Ezra. Where are you?" she mumbled to herself.  
  
What should of taken him only a few hours was now moving into its second day. second day without one little word from Ezra.   
  
She had taught him better than this. He knew what a deadline meant. He knew what a job from the Count meant. He knew what was riding on keeping their employer pleased.  
  
So, where was he? And where was the Aurora?  
  
There was a frantic knock on the door.  
  
Maude spun about. "Ezra?" she called hopefully.   
  
But it was a little casino girl who stepped in. "Ma'am, ya've gotta come an' see." she said excitedly.  
  
Maude sighed with frustration. With a wave of her hand, she turned away. "Go away."  
  
"But, ma'am, ya've gotta come an' see!" she repeated more urgently.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Ah don't know, ma'am. but it's big! Like a whole big boat."  
  
Maude glanced at her with a frown. "We are on a river, dear. What do you expect to see?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am." the girl nodded... then shook her head. "But in the sky?"  
  
The lady Standish stiffened. "Count Gregory." she gasped. Her hands flew to her face, almost as if to hide her. But she knew there was no place to hide. All she could do now was buy time. And hope and pray that Ezra would be back before the Count demanded his prize.  
  
"Missy, get the girls together. I want them in their finest. And call Abigale to my rooms. And Duchess too. And hurry, Missy." She quickly ordered, ushering the girl out before her. Then she turned and raced up the back stairs to her suite.  
  
Her ladies in waiting were already there, hurrying to lay out her gown and jewelry.  
  
"Hurry, now, girls. We want to look our best." the casino mistress encouraged, holding out her arms so the girls could undress her.  
  
"Be careful with that, you stupid whore!" Maude snapped when one them dropped one of her silk slippers.  
  
The girl was too occupied with what was outside the window to give her mistress much attention.  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud!" The lady Standish stomped over to her. "What can possibly be so important..." She stopped, her eyes going big. "That is not the Prometheus." she whispered.  
  
~~~~~  
  
J.D. absently tapped his pencil on the edge of the glass beaker sitting before him on the work table. He had been working on something, something he had always want to try and build. Something that had earned him nothing but ridicule back at the university.  
  
He had almost laughed when General Coal's answer to his hesitant request to attempt the experiment was a shrug and "Give me a list of what you need. You will be supplied." J.D. had been thrilled with the realization that he could chase after any and every little idea that had ever crowded his over imangitive head.  
  
So, here he sat, tapping the beaker, everything he had ever wanted laid about his, HIS, workshop... doing nothing.  
  
Buck Wimlington.  
  
J.D. could still hear his cries.   
  
"Damn." Dropping the pencil into the beaker, he rubbed his eyes.   
  
Buck had seemed like an old friend, talking easily to him despite his own circumstances. J.D. just couldn't imagine that man as the enemy.   
  
But General Coal told him that he was. And the General had been nothing but generous to him, giving him everything he had ever wanted.  
  
But was generous also honest? Right?  
  
That woman was torturing Buck.  
  
That woman!  
  
J.D.'s back still ached from the bruises, the result of `that woman' slamming him against the cell bars. He could still feel her iron grip and razor sharp finger nails. And, worse, he could feel those eyes burning into him like a pair of white hot coals.  
  
That was no woman. Hell, he doubted she was even human! She was a monster.  
  
And, for whatever reason the General gave, `she' was wrong!  
  
J.D. shook his head. How could `good' guys be part of such a monster? Part of such evil? Part of torturing Buck Wilmington?  
  
They can't! It was wrong! It was just simply, absolutely wrong!  
  
J.D. lurched to his feet with such force, he threw his chair back, crashing to the floor. Damn it, he had to do something about it. General Coal was a good man. He would listen to him. He would stop that woman. He'd have to. If he really was the good guy...  
  
~~~~~  
  
Buck flinched when he heard the footsteps. He should of known. It had been a whole ten minutes since someone had done something agonizing to him.  
  
"Captain Buck Wilmington." a deep, strong voice sounded.  
  
Buck smiled slightly. This wasn't who he had expected. He mustered what strength he had to speak, though it wasn't enough to keep his voice from shaking, "General Coal." He raised his head just enough to see the man.  
  
Coal blinked his one good eye. "It's Larabee, isn't it?" he asked. "Larabee is heading up your team."  
  
Buck chuckled, wincing at the movement of his body. "Larabee retired, Coal. You made sure of that."  
  
But the General just smiled. "He retired after the passing of his family, then? But you are family."  
  
"Passing?!" Buck spat. "You murdered a helpless woman and her child!"  
  
Coal sighed. "War claims all sorts of victims." he answered. "You are the only resemblance of family Larabee has left. He will be coming after you. Does he know about me?"  
  
Buck chuckled again. "Why? Afraid?"  
  
General Coal stiffened. "It doesn't matter if he knows about me. I know about him." He nodded. "Larabee is coming. And I will be waiting for him."  
  
Buck smiled. "Well, at least he won't have to look for you to kill you."  
  
The General looked at the prisoner a moment longer, before turning away.  
  
But Buck stopped him, calling out "My turn."  
  
General Coal glanced back, then turned to eye him. His one hard, gray eye judged the danger that the prisoner might pose. But, considering that Lady Margurita's toys rarely lived, much less escaped, what threat could he be?  
  
Dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand, the General said "Ask what you may."  
  
"That boy... J.D.? What is he to you?" Buck wanted to know.  
  
Coal tilted his head to one side, his single eye narrowing. "A tool." was his short, simple answer.  
  
"A tool?" Buck repeated, shocked and disgusted that `that' child was considered nothing more than the means to an end. "Where's his family? His parents?  
  
The General shrugged. "The boy has no one. No one wanted him. No one was smart enough to see his potential." He smiled, a genuine and excited expression. "He is brilliant, Captain Wilmington. His imagination, exploited to its greatest extent, will bring present day stupidity, so-called progress, to its knees. And then, with that he dreams up, we will bring forth the future... and hold it!" The last was said as his hand snatched at the air as if snatching that future right then and right there.  
  
Buck's eyes narrowed. "Does he know that?"  
  
Coal chuckled. "As most imaginations are, his is fed by his innocence."  
  
"How long do you think that'll last when he sees one of his dreams blowing apart the United States government?"   
  
"Who said he'll see it?" Coal challenged.  
  
Buck chuckled. "You're a fool, Coal."  
  
"Am I, Captain? What that boy has already drawn up will keep us in this battle a hell of a long time, if not win it right out." The General shrugged. "I am the fool? My hand is set. Whether John Dunne lives or die from this time on, my hand is set." He smirked at the prisoner. "You, on the other hand... May the Lady Margarita be merciful... though I doubt she will. Not in her nature." He turned and walked away.  
  
"And I though that old buzzard would never leave." Margarita stepped out of the shadows. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong... did he just say it didn't matter if his little baby boy dies?" her beautiful face turned ugly with an evil grin. She, too, turned, and started for the exit.  
  
"Hey!" Buck called after. "Don't! Leave him alone!" he yelled, but his only answer was her laughter which was cut short by the steel clang of the door being swung shut.  
  
~~~~~ 


	5. Chapter 4

TITLE: When Adventures Begin...  
  
CHAPTER: Four  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
  
FEEDBACK: Pretty Please!   
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter Four~~  
  
On the River Lady...  
  
"Mother." Ezra started.  
  
A solid slap across his face silenced him.  
  
"How dare you?!" Maude Standish hissed at him. "How dare you bring the enemy of our Lord into our home? Into this sanctuary? The very sanctuary Count Gregory provided for you! He saved us! Saved us from the dirt poor and impoverish. He fed us, clothed us, gave us everything!"  
  
"He enslaved us!" Ezra snapped back, silencing her just as sudden as if he had slapped her back.  
  
Maude's jaw snapped shut, her smoldering emerald eyes burning into her son.  
  
Ezra sighed, shaking his head. "Mother, please, we can be free. Go where we want to, serve no one but ourselves. We don't need Count Gregory. We don't need anyone."  
  
"Our Lord saved your life." she hissed at him. "When those Yankees came for you..."  
  
"They were helping to provide a cover story." When his mother frowned, Ezra explained "I was working with the North to keep outside influences out of our war. The Yankees pretended to hunt me to give Count Gregory a reason to trust me."  
  
Maude stepped back as if she had been stung. "You... You betrayed us?" she gasped.  
  
"No." Ezra reached for her, but she stepped further away. "No, I was buying our freedom."  
  
Her eyes turned hard once again. "Well, you have your freedom." She spat at him with disgust. "Ungrateful, traitorous swine... how could you have possibly been born from my own being?" She shook her head. "Well, I lay claim to you no more. You are no son of mine! I have no son!"  
  
The gambler's gut twisted viciously. "What?" he whispered, unable to comprehend what she was saying.  
  
"I serve my lord, the Count Gregory, faithfully, with every once of my being. And I damn any and everyone who dares to stand against him." Maude Standish announced, casting glares at the two men who had arrived with her son, including them in her declaration. "Now, get out of my home, before I have you shot and dragged out like the dogs you are!"  
  
Ezra just stood there, staring at her. His mind had drawn a complete blank. After all, what does a son say to a mother that has just denounced him for favor of a monster such as the evil Count Gregory?  
  
Chris Larabee stepped forward. "I don't think you've quite understood, lady." he growled. "Standish is giving you the opportunity to get out before the ship..." he glanced about at the casino ship around them, "...goes down with all hands."  
  
The woman glared at him. "Mr Larabee, all I have to say to a Yankee would be quite unlady like." she warned.  
  
Chris' eyes narrowed. "I don't give a damn what you say to me. Now, this is what you're gonna say to Gregory..."  
  
~~~~~  
  
J.D. ran after the General. "Sir! General Coal, sir!" he called.  
  
Coal gave a tired sigh, shaking his head. The damn little brat was beginning to get on his nerves. He did not have time for this. For crying out loud, he was trying to run a war ship.   
  
They were minutes from the River Lady where they were supposed to meet with loyals of their Count Gregory and retrieve the newest of flying vessels, another Aurora. As successful as the Standishs had always been, Coal had doubts in their ability to handle the famous Phileas Fogg, who, according to their information, would of been delivering the dirigible. Sure, the mother and son team had quite the reputation for being able to con anything they wanted from anyone. But Lord Fogg was not just anyone and had proven such in the countless times he had interfered with Count Gregory's plans for the world.  
  
Ah, and Margarita brings Wilmington aboard his ship, no doubt drawing the attention of that damn wolfhound Larabee. And there was nothing short of death that would put Larabee off: his death or the death of his family. Considering there was no family left, that left Larabee himself. And General Coal was not all that sure that he could take that man alone... It was a good thing he commanded the Prometheus then.  
  
And now the boy wanted his attention.  
  
"General, sir." J.D. panted as he came up on the bridge to stand beside him. "I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Now is not a good time, John. Go to your room. I will come at my first opportunity..." Coal tried to be patient.  
  
"Sir, the Aurora class dirigible is in the air to the north of the River Lady." called a look out standing at the observation window.  
  
"In the air?" Coal frowned.  
  
"It's about the prisoner, General." J.D. insisted.  
  
"Not now, John." Coal growled before turning to the look out. "Why is that ship in the air? It should be on the ground, down and submissive!"  
  
"She's in the air, sir." confirmed the second look out. "At aproximently 150 feet and holding. She looks to be anchored though, sir."  
  
"General, what she's doing to Wilmington is wrong. If we're supposed to be the good guys..."  
  
Coal spun about, slamming the back of his hand across J.D.'s face, knocking him back to slam into a steel column.  
  
Stunned and hurt, the boy stared up at him with wide eyes. A shaky hand reached up to gingerly touch the quickly coloring bruise around the split Coal's knuckles had cut across his jaw.  
  
"Do not bring this to me again!" Coal snarled. "Go to your room! Remain there!" Without another word, he spun back to his lookouts. "Is there any movement on the dirigible?"   
  
J.D. stared at the man's back another moment as the crew of the Prometheus continued their duties around him. Some cast amused looks in his direction, a few even chuckled. Most just simply ignored the abused boy.   
  
Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, J.D. pushed away from the column and stumbled off of the bridge. Out in the hall he leaned a hand on the cold, steel wall while the other, again, reached up to touch the cut. When he pulled his hand away and looked down at it, he saw his own blood. He was too numb to feel the real pain, but that didn't stop his mind to come to a conclusion. "I was wrong." he breathed.  
  
"Yes, really?" Lady Margarita stepped directly in front of the boy.   
  
With a startled yipe, J.D. started to step back.  
  
But the woman grabbed his shoulder and sunk her nails in with such force, she drove him to his knees. Leaning down over him, she smiled a sweet, little girl smile. "You were very wrong to come here, little! baby! boy!"  
  
John Daniels Dunne forced his head up, his young, gentle eyes, though glistening from tears of pain, were now hard. "Well, you got one thing right." he pushed out through clenched teeth. Suddenly his small clenched fist came up, slamming into the woman's gut with every ounce of strength he had.  
  
With a startled gasp, Margarita stumbled back, releasing her hold.   
  
J.D. jumped back to his feet. "I was wrong to come here. But I, sure as hell, ain't no little baby boy!" he snapped, before jumping around her, barely dodging her snatching hand, and ran down the hall.  
  
"You bastard!" she screamed after him, but was not yet recovered enough to take chase. But not so, that she couldn't send a promise after him: "I will shred you to pieces!"  
  
Knowing it wouldn't take long for her to make good her promise, J.D. lowered his head and ran for all his worth. If it was the last thing he did, he had to make something good come out of his mistake: Get Buck Wilmington out!   
  
Even if it killed him!  
  
~~~~~  
  
"Oh, man." Vin Tanner slowly rose to his feet, staring at the huge air ship as it came closer, over shadowing the small Aurora.  
  
Lord Fogg glanced at him. "Is there a problem, Mr. Tanner?" he wondered.  
  
The young pilot nodded. "Sure as hell! Look at the size of that thing!" He waved a hand toward the ship.  
  
"I assure you, I am more than acquainted with the Prometheus." Fogg assured.  
  
But Tanner was not in the least assured. "It's huge! Texas would be chilled by that thing! We're a mosquito to that thing's..." He hesitated, lacking the right comparison.  
  
"Ostrich?" Passpartout offered.  
  
Both Tanner and Fogg frowned at the little frenchman. "What?" Tanner exclaimed.  
  
"Oschrige." the valet was quick to supply. "A very large bird... 'cept, of course, Prometheus can fly, but Oschrige no fly. An' fast! Oschrige very fast. Prometheus is slow. very slow. An' not very..."  
  
"Thank you, Passpartout!" Fogg silenced him.  
  
Passpartout looked at his master with a hurt expression. but was quickly distracted when Nathen dropped an arm load of rifles on the dining table before him, each needing to be checked and loaded.  
  
"Fact being," nathen joined the discussion, "that thing is armor plated, covered with gun sites, at least three cannons on the the top deck on this side alone... the thing is a flying fortress. How are we supposed to fight that with this? A sky yacht, a rich man's toy?"  
  
"gentlemen." Fogg called attention back to himself. "Have any of you heard the expression `it isn't the size, but what you do with it that matters.'?"  
  
Startled into a chuckle, Vin nodded, then glanced at Nathen to see his reaction.  
  
Nathen smiled slightly. "I don't believe that that phrase quite fits our situation."  
  
"On the contrary." Fogg answered. "Are there any two more similar than war and making love? You go in with the mission of conquest, passion to see what needs to be done done, and with the hope that you come out, if not intact, at least better for the experience."  
  
"Though intact would be preferred." Vin mumbled, still grinning.  
  
"There are more ways to die making love than war." Passpartout put in.  
  
Fogg smiled. "And he should know. The French are well known for their more than fair share of love making."  
  
"An' war." his valet added, too busy with the gears of a rifle to look up.  
  
With a sad sigh, the english Lord nodded. "And war." he agreed. He looked directly at Nathen then. "The Aurora is more than a toy." he said, stiff enough that everyone knew he had taken the comment personally. "And this ship was crafted after my Aurora for the explicit purpose to give the United States a force in the air." He waved a hand at his man. "Passpartout is right. The Prometheus is slow. This craft can move around that ogre like a desert wasp. She can move in and out quickly, through hills, hide in clearings the Prometheus can't even see through its own shadow."  
  
Vin looked up at him again. "Why do you call the Aurora `she' and the Promtheus `it'?" he wondered.  
  
Lord Phileas Fogg smiled. He held up his ever-present brandy glass. "As in war, as in love, my friend, never refer to a lady as anything but a lady. And never refer to another as anywhere near the same quality." He emptied his glass, set it down on the table, then grabbed a small, hand held canon. "Now, if we are to be ready to sting when Mr. Larabee calls for us to be, we had best be getting to it."  
  
Nathen huffed a little, unconvinced, but returned to the rifles.  
  
Vin cast another look up at the massive ship that had anchored itself over the River Lady Casino. Then dropped down and continued his work on the rope.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~ 


	6. Chapter 5

TITLE: When Adventures Begin...  
  
CHAPTER: Five  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
  
FEEDBACK: Pretty Please!   
  
EMAIL: chroniclerofknucklesyahoo.com  
  
When Adventures Begin...  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
Chapter Five  
  
A loud clang brought Buck out of the haze that his mind had been spending most of its time in of late. Forcing his eyes to focus, he peered through the shadows of his cell.   
  
A small figure was crouched before the door, messing with the lock.   
  
"Who..." Buck grumbled.  
  
J.D.'s head snapped up, his bright eyes piercing through the shadows.  
  
"Kid?" Buck shook his head. "You shouldn't be here. You'll get into..."  
  
"Trouble?" With a final thrust, the boy somehow punched the innards of the lock out and the door swung open. "Little too late for that." He hurried into the cell, but stopped just out of reach of the prisoner. His bright eyes narrowed as he stared up at him.   
  
"What are you doing?" Buck asked softly, confused.  
  
"I need to ask you something." J.D. bit his lip.  
  
"You can ask, son. It's alright." assured the prisoner.  
  
J.D. hesitated, but, then, as if coming to a conclusion, nodded once. "How... how do I know you're the good guy?"  
  
Buck's eyes narrowed. "What? Good guy?" He tried to shrug, but his restraints and wounds pulled, sending streaks of pain through his shoulders and chest. He dropped his face to hide his gasp.  
  
"How do I know you're a good guy?" J.D. repeated. "I've been making a lot of mistakes lately. I don't want to make any more."  
  
With a half smile, the best he could muster, Buck raised his eyes again to look at the boy. "I never said I was a good man, John. I drink far too much, play every chance I get, chase women like there's no tomorrow... But the people I work for, the United States, our President, the Secret Service... these are good people."  
  
J.D. frowned. "All I have is your word. Coal told me he was a good man." He shook his head.  
  
It was then Buck caught a glimpse of something. "Your face... Who hit you?" Ignoring his own pain, he jerked on his chains. "Who hit you? Was it that bitch? Did she find you?" he demanded.  
  
The boy looked up at him again. "I can't let you go... not until I know... not until..."  
  
Buck huffed. "Look at me, kid. I'm a man. All I can do is try to be the best that I can be... and hope that it is enough to be considered good."  
  
J.D. stared at him for what seemed a long moment. Then he reached up with a long tube-like instrument and pressed it to the lock of his left manacle. Hitting the back of the tube sent a small sharp pole shooting through the lock, destroying it.  
  
The sudden release of pressure was as painful as the pull. With a soft cry, Buck fell forward, hanging from his right arm.   
  
J.D. started to move to the right shackled when he was suddenly grabbed and thrown back against the bars.  
  
The tube shaped tool dropped at Buck's feet.  
  
Margurita shook a finger at her prisoner. "Now, now. You stay right there. The little baby boy and I have business." Her last word was snarled as she slowly turned to her new victim.  
  
Sliding his back up the bars, J.D. slowly stood. "Don't you ever knock?" he growled.  
  
The woman laughed. "My, my, baby has a growl. Wonder if he has a bite to back it up."  
  
"J.D., get out of here!" Buck yelled. "Run!"  
  
"J.D.! Run!" she mimicked. She flashed a long dagger. "Run! Run!" Margurita laughed. Then suddenly lunged at the boy.  
  
-----  
  
Maude Standish felt her knees wobble. But when her son reached out to offer support, she ripped her arm out of his grasp. She didn't even waste the effort to glare at him.  
  
Ezra barely hesitated. Wasn't like, after the last hour or so, he wasn't used to it. "Steady yourself, mother. Remember? Presence is everything." he reminded her of what she, herself, had often told him when going into a con.  
  
Above them, casting a dark and forbidding shadow over the river boat casino, was the Prometheus. The air ship had anchored itself to either side of the river boat. The cannons that poked from the belly of the huge air beast swiveled about as if testing their movement, though they seemed to have an odd effect on those below, on the deck of the River Lady.   
  
"Like eyes of a paintin' in an ol' haunted house on some grayin' ol' cemetery hill." one of Maude's ladies in waiting had described them in hush tones. "They always seems to be a followin' me 'bout." Within the next breath, she had begged her mistress to be excused for the day, claiming to have fallen ill.  
  
"What are they doing?" Josiah asked in a hushed tone. He and Chris were standing just behind the mother and son on the deck to the bridge of the River Lady. They had taken the place of the Standishs' usual standing men.   
  
"Making a presence." Maude answered in the same hushed tones. "Now, be silent and play your part. They come."  
  
A port opened on the center of the belly of the beast and an 8' by 8' black steel basket started its decent.  
  
"That'll be the greeters." Ezra explained softly, watching the cage. "The advance guard. Probably General Coal. Be careful. If anyone will see through you it will be the General."  
  
Maude smiled. "And then you will be dead."  
  
Ezra glanced at her sharply, but it was Chris's cold, hard voice that replied "You think your fate will be any different, lady? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm standin' behind you."   
  
The woman raised her head a little higher and her back stiffened only slightly. She was too good at this to allow a cowboy' faze her.... much.  
  
The basket settled on the deck only a few yards from the four. Two black clad men pushed open the steel gate so that a third could step out.  
  
"General Coal, how lovely it is to see you again." Maude greeted, starting forward, her arms open in welcome.  
  
The man's one eye scanned the woman with disinterest, then shifted to take in the three men with her. The gray eye narrowed as it took in Josiah and Chris. "Mrs. Standish." he finally spoke, his gaze returning to her. "I see that you were a success. That you have retrieved the Aurora."  
  
She smiled her best. "Yes. It was my son's doing. He is master of his craft, indeed." She turned to smile her praise at the son she had been ignoring up to now.  
  
"Indeed." The General was unimpressed. Again, he eyed the two strangers.   
  
"Umm... General... " Maude called attention back to herself. "As lovely as it is to see you again... I was' expecting the Count...?"  
  
"Our lord, the Count Gregory, has chosen to remain in his quarters aboard the Prometheus." The General continued to watch the strangers. His eyes narrowed. "Why is the Aurora still in the air?" he asked.  
  
Ezra tilted his head just slightly. "I was sent to retrieve something called the Aurora. I was given no more and no less information than that." He smirked. "Perhaps you could of supplied instructions and manual assistance. It is amazing enough that I was able to decipher how to operate the dirigible enough to get it this far!"  
  
Coal's gray eye shifted to take in the young gambler. "Indeed? And just how did you do that?" he wondered.  
  
Ezra rubbed his chin with one elegant finger and thumb. "Talent." he admitted.  
  
"Talent?" General Coal repeated. Again his eye shifted to take in the two silent men standing behind the mother and son. "Very well. I will send a crew over immediately to take the Aurora in hand." He noted the slightest of shift as the two newcomers almost glanced at one another. He almost smiled. "Come, I invite you to join myself and our lord, the Count Gregory, on the Prometheus to discus this further."  
  
"Yes, of course." Maude Standish gathered her skirts and started for the waiting lift. She paused half way to cast a look back at the two agents. "Are you coming?" she demanded. "Or shall I get the door myself?!"  
  
It took every ounce of strength Chris Larabee had not to blow his cover right then and there.  
  
It was Ezra Standish who came to the rescue, stepping to his mother's side and saying "Do not worry yourself with the help, mother. He may be slow witted, but he knows his place. I will see to it that he is replaced upon our return with more... adequate assistance."  
  
"Be sure and do that." Maude huffed. "Even if he was the best of men, I do not care much for the way that one looks." She turned to the General. "Wouldn't you say, General Coal, that that man has a shifty glint to his eyes?"   
  
Coal cast a dark look at the men, before offering his arm to the woman and leading her to the lift basket. "I have no opinion to offer you at this time." was his not so simple answer. He held off adding that his opinion had long ago formed. He knew a fighter when he saw one. And fighters were not men in waiting.  
  
Chris knew he was being scrutinized. Damn, he hated play acting. He wasn't any good at it. But, keeping in mind that, if Buck was alive, he was very possibly in the belly of that damn monster overhead, Chris did his very best to play the role. Dropping his eyes, he stepped pass the Standishs and Coal, opening the gate.  
  
"Well." Maude threw him a glare at she stepped into the lift. "That is marginally better. Perhaps he can be taught... but not on my time." She took Coal's arm again as he stepped in beside her. "Really, for all the manners and skills we bestow on the lower class, you would think that they would pay us, rather than the other way around."  
  
The General politely nodded, but he had stopped listening to the woman's drabble some time back Nothing she had to say was of any of his concern.  
  
Particularly with Captain Chris Larabee stepping up onto his ship.  
  
-----  
  
J.D. rolled across the floor, just barely missing Margurita's spike heals as she kicked at him.   
  
"Hold still, you little rodent. One good whack an' it'll be all over." she promised with a laugh. She leaped after him, slamming each heal down with such force sparks flew, leaving behind a white mark on the steel floor.  
  
The young inventor slammed into the wall with a grunt.  
  
Thinking he had no where to go, Margurita, giggling gleefully, started forward for one last strike.  
  
With a grunt, Buck twisted about, watching the fight. Seeing the boy's predicament, he reached out, straining against the chain he still hung from by one arm. But, stretched as far as his banged up body could, he still fell short, his outstretched finger tips just barely grazing his tormentor's shoulder.  
  
Sensing more than feeling his touch, Margurita spun about to face him. For a breath she just gazed down at the fingers. Then she blew gently on his fingers. "Just a hair's breath from your revenge... yet never so far away. Must be simple agony for you." she observed. Just for fun, she kicked back, delighting almost as much in the painful grunt as the back of her boot sunk into her newest victim's belly as in the rage filled look of the man before her. She should of thought of torturing the boy earlier. Would of been so much fun...  
  
The normally gentle man snarled through clenched teeth "Get the hell away from him!" His soft blue eyes had turned hard with cold, steely rage. He stretched even further, gritting his teeth as he felt his shoulder slowly pull apart, ignoring the tickle of blood running down his wrist from under the bracelet cutting into his skin.  
  
She leaned back just enough that, again, his fingers just grazed her skin. "Oooooh." she cooed. "You have such a wonderful natural big brother instinct that is just so adorable. I just can't wait to see your expression when I'm scraping his brain guck from the sole of my boot." she admitted, before turning to find her victim again.   
  
But J.D. was no longer laying on the floor, helpless.   
  
He was standing, back braced against the wall, foot coming up to settle against her flat stomach.  
  
Surprised by this aggressive change, Margurita paused, her eyes widening slightly.  
  
Her lack of response was just long enough.   
  
J.D. kicked out, pushing her back and away from him.   
  
With a startled cry, she stumbled back. Though off balance, her need to kill him doubled, and she swung her knife wielding hand about wildly, slashing at J.D.'s throat.  
  
"Ah!" J.d. cried, his hands instantly coming up to clutch the cut across the very tip of his chin.  
  
"That ain't nothin', boy!" Margurita promised. Taking a good grip on the knife, she lunged for him.  
  
But her head was yanked back, jerking her off her feet.  
  
"I said!" Buck snarled again, his free hand securely wrapped around a hand full of red hair. "Get! The! Hell! Away! From! Him!"  
  
The knife swung up and back, toward the trapped man.  
  
"No!" J.D. cried, He jumped forward, landing on top of the woman, and grabbing at her wrist.  
  
"You stupid little pup." the woman growled, jerking her surprisingly strong body about. Though she couldn't get a good swing with the little brat attached to her wrist and the ass yanking on her hair, she did have other tricks.  
  
Viciously, she slammed her knee up, smashing against J.D.'s crotch.  
  
With a gasping cry, J.D. doubled up and rolled off.  
  
Once again her knife wielding hand was free. Thinking the boy was out of the picture for a moment, Margurita turned her attention to her hated Buck.   
  
Buck cried out as the knife sunk hilt deep into his thigh. But his fingers tightened around her hair. Nearly blinded by pain and exhaustion, he knew only one thing: if he let go, she would kill the boy... and he'd be damn if he was gonna let that happen.  
  
With a sick sound relished only by the rancid mind of the lady, the knife was yanked free.  
  
"Let go, damn you!" Margurita growled.   
  
This time the knife cut into Buck's arm. But she was the one who cried out as his reaction was to yank even harder on her hair.  
  
With an inhuman snarl, she whipped the knife about and, using the sharp blade on herself, she cut through her own hair.  
  
Dropping to the floor, she quickly rolled about, then flipped forward and onto her feet. Spinning about, she glared at her captive. "You son of a bitch. You look what you did to my hair!" she roared, running her free hand through her chopped hair. "I'm gonna skin you alive. Oh, yea, you'll be alive the whole time. I want you to know what the boy's goin' through as I give him the same treatment right where you can get a good look." she promised. She took a step toward him.  
  
J.D. suddenly rose up in front of her. He pressed a tube to her chest and hit the back of it.  
  
Lady Margurita stopped cold. For a breath, she looked at him as if confused and seeing him for the first time. Then her eyes widened in shock. Licking her lips, she smiled at the boy. "I'll be damned..." she whispered in admiration.  
  
"I don't doubt it." J.D. whispered back.   
  
The knife fell from numb fingers and she reached up to run a finger around the end of the small, steel bolt perturding from her heart. "Now that has potential." she admitted, before falling to the floor.   
  
J.D. watched as her bright, cruel eyes blinked once, then never moved again. For a long moment he stared at those eyes, afraid to move, afraid not to move, afraid that he was wrong and that she was still alive... afraid that she couldn't be killed.  
  
Then a hand dropped onto his shoulder.  
  
With a startled cry, J.D. spun about and jumped back. Stumbling over the woman's body, he fell back, falling to the floor. With wide, frighten eyes, he stared up at the captive.  
  
Buck smiled weekly. "So... we were talkin' 'bout good guys an' bad guys..."  
  
---------- 


	7. Chapter 6

TITLE: When Adventures Begin.  
CHAPTER: Six AUTHOR: The Chronicler UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures RATING: PG-13 ARCHIVE: Yes FEEDBACK: Pretty Please! EMAIL:  
  
When Adventures Begin.  
By The Chronicler  
  
Chapter Six  
  
The lift settled effortlessly on the deck of the Prometheus. Instantly two gray clad men rushed forward to open the gate for the passengers to disembark.  
  
The lady Standish practically fluttered out, fanning her face with a hankie at a near hysterical pace. "My, my, what a fantastic view." she purred, hurrying to the rail and peering over.  
  
"Yes, it is." General Coal answered in a monotone. He watched as the man servants followed the Standishes out of the lift and across the deck. The slightest shift of his gray eye gave a silent order to his men, before he, too, stepped out of the lift.  
  
Ezra Standish hesitated. His trained eye picked up the signal, saw the ever so slight change in the men. He knew these people, seen them in action often enough. And he knew what it meant.  
  
The gambler glanced back at Josiah who still stood just behind him. "Take care." he warned in a whisper. Then stepped away to join his mother. "Impressive, indeed."  
  
Maude glanced up at him sharply, her eyes narrowing. With an evil smirk that made Ezra gut twist, Maude standish turned to face Coal. "Now, General, in the sanctuary of your strong hold, I give you these... traitors, these loathsome trespassers are actually the retarded fists of the ever so great, pompous, imperious President of these fine United States of America." She glared at the two agents with such venom she could of killed them right then and there. But she preferred to watch the General do it.  
  
Coal sighed, annoyed that she had wasted so many words to say what he had already known. "I am aware of that fact, Mrs Standish. Now, if you would please quiet yourself...." He glanced sharply at the two Standishs. "I may yet discover how involved the two of you are."  
  
Grinding his teeth, Chris Larabee started forward with every intent of killing every man he could lay his hands on... and then do something about that bitch Standish! But Josiah was quick to stop him, grabbing his arm with a strong, almost painful, grip. The Captain glanced at him sharply, ready to start on his own man if that's what it took. Then stopped himself when he noticed that the big man wasn't looking at him, but was glancing about at their surroundings. Following his gaze, Chris suddenly understood.  
  
They were surrounded by several, well armed and ready soldiers. They didn't have a chance.  
  
Maude quickly stepped forward. "I am not, by any means, a part of the treachery!" she insisted. "My pathetic excuse for a son brought this down on us. It is his doing."  
  
Coal discovered a whole new distaste for the woman, a mother who would turn on her own son... even if it was in the process of being loyal to the League of Darkness. But she was beneath him and he had no desire to fall to her level. Her son, on the other hand, was a smart bastard, tricky, even ingenious. If he betrayed the League, then he could be an enemy of significance. But, if he hadn't betrayed them, than he was an asset they would be wise to keep. "Mr. Standish, would you care to explain this?" he offered, actually curiose as to what excuse the boy might come up with.  
  
Ezra smirked. "What did you expect me to do?" he challenged. Turning about, he waved an arm at the Aurora. "The Aurora. That was all I was told. I was supposed to bring back the Aurora!" He turned hard emerald eyes on the General. "I didn't know that it was a ship... much less an air ship... and one guarded by a trifle of brutes who had the thought capacity for one, and only one, simple thought: finding their litter mate!" He put his hands on his hips. "Since their focus was on their.. otherwise preoccupied companion... my assumption being that you are the one he was preoccupied with... they were not taken with the cover you had supplied."  
  
"Damn straight!" Chris snarled.  
  
Ezra glanced at him, but then returned his gaze to Coal. "Thus I took the only path opened to me: I fabricated a cover. Considering that I have delivered both the Aurora and these agents to you all in fine condition, I would of thought praise, and not suspicion, would of been the award. But, alas, that would require the presence of at least one gentleman."  
  
The General raised one eye brow. "You would?" he returned, not in the least bit impressed with what sounded more like bragging than explanation. But, as Ezra had talked, he had watched Larabee.  
  
The Captain had become so ridged with rage, that he was trembling. And his eyes were locked on the boy Standish.  
  
Ezra Standish could lie to the four winds and convince them there was nothing to blow at. But Chris Larabee wasn't a lier and his reaction told the General what he wanted to know about the story. Larabee believed that he had just been betrayed.  
  
General Coal turned his back purposefully on the government agents, and faced Ezra directly. "Alright, Mr. Standish, I will give you an opportunity to prove your loyalty to the League of darkness and our Lord, the Count Gregory."  
  
"Oh?" Ezra face went completely blank, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever may I do to please our Lord, the great, magnificent, godly Count Gregory?"  
  
Though his men shifted and growled at the tone, Coal simple ignored it as part of the boy's over abundance of character. "You will lead a troop to the Aurora to seize her in the name of the League. You will open the doors for our men, pointing out the dangers and disarming any of the enemy that may still be aboard. You will make sure that not one of my men is unnecessarily wounded in the seizure. Is that understood?"  
  
The boy seemed to hesitate. He started to glance at Larabee, but stopped, as if realizing it might have been a mistake. He quickly turned his eyes to his mother, trying to hide his first reaction.  
  
But Coal had seen it. And would not forget that Ezra Standish nearly looked to the enemy for instruction. Perhaps added encouragement was needed. "Mrs. Standish will remain with us... for her safety, of course." he offered, his tone low and meaningful.  
  
As he predicted, Ezra's eyes snapped up at him. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to something Coal did not recognized, a soft smile curling his lips. "Of course. I... appreciate the concern for my mother's safety." His back stiff, he turned back to the lift. When no troop seemed to be ready, he cast his eyes back. "At your connivance, of course."  
  
Coal's one eye narrowed. Then it shifted to one of his officers. With a nod, he sent the man off to gather his troops. Then he turned his attention once more to the captives. "Captain Larabee... forgive my distraction." He smiled a soft, friendly smile. "You have come along way to seek your friend. Accept my assurances that he is, if not well, at least alive." He paused to frown, blinking his one eye. "Well, he was the last time I saw him. In the not so deligate hands of our sweet Lady Margurita, his condition could have changed drastically in a very short time."  
  
"Where the hell is he?" Chris demanded in a low, snarl.  
  
So menacing was his tone, that the men nearest stiffened, their weapons coming up slightly.  
  
Coal sighed. "Interesting that you mentioned hell."

* * *

J.D. paced nervously, his arms wrapped around himself so tight, he bruised himself. His eyes kept drifting to the dead woman on the floor, and he kept ripping his eyes away, trying to block out the memory, the knowledge that he, John Daniels Dunne, had killed her.  
  
"J.D." Buck breathed from where he sat, leaning against the bars of his cell, washing his wounds in a bucket the kid had brought him. "You keep pacin' like that an' I'm just gonna throw up again."  
  
Instantly, the boy stopped, his big, frightened eyes locking on him. "Are you sick again? Do you still need time? More water?" he asked hurriedly.  
  
Buck smiled up at him, wondering for a moment if his concern was just for him or for their yet to get on with escape. "J.D.... come here." he ordered.  
  
The boy obeyed without hesitation, offering his arm when Buck reached up.  
  
With a grunt, the agent pulled himself to his feet. As if sitting didn't hurt enough, actually standing screamed agony through his torn, burned, and abused body. With a gasp, he gripped J.D.'s arm, squeazing his eyes closed.  
  
Quickly, J.D. wrapped an arm around his new friend's waist. "Sit down again. You're not ready."  
  
But Buck's free hand grabbed the cell bars, keeping himself up. "No." He forced a smile for the boy. "Staying won't do anything but get us both chained to the ceiling." He glanced down at the dead woman. "Maybe worse."  
  
J.D. followed his gaze and shivered.  
  
A loud clank sounded as the hall door was unlatched.  
  
J.D.'s jaw dropped.  
  
"Shit!" Buck hissed. He pushed the boy away from him and into the shadowy corner of his cell. "Stay! Hide!" he snapped.  
  
J.D. hesitated. "But you're hurt..."  
  
"Now!"  
  
The boy dropped back into the shadows, crouching down, doing his very best to become invisible.  
  
Six gray clad soldiers entered the dungeon, shoving and pulling between them two men, both with their hands cuffed in front of them. They were laughing and threatening their prisoners, telling them of all the many "wonders" their Lady had in store for them.  
  
But then the one in the lead stopped, his eyes locking on the open door of the cell. "What the hell..." he started, then stopped again when he saw the body laying beyond the door. His jaw dropped open.  
  
His companions stopped behind him, not immediately seeing what he had. But then they followed his gaze.  
  
"Lady Margurita!" one cried, rushing into the cell and dropping down beside their commanding officer. He reached for her, but hesitated, his hand hanging over the body. After a few deep breaths, he looked up at his colleagues with big eyes. "She's dead." he confirmed what they already knew.  
  
The six men stared at each other in shock, unsure of what they should do.  
  
Chris raised on eye brow. "My condolences." he offered.  
  
Instantly, the man closest swung about, slamming the back of his fist across the agent's jaw.  
  
Expecting the blow coming, Chris planted his feet and, though his head snapped back, he did not stumble. He spat out blood from his split lip before turning his cold, hard eyes on the guard.  
  
Before he could say anything further, a chuckle finally drew everyone's attention to the occupant of the cell.  
  
"Well, damn, Chris, I thought you had gone and retired."  
  
Chris smirked at his long time friend. Despite obviously being in bad shape, Buck was alive! And Chris couldn't help but feel his heart pound, over joyed to see him. "Well, damn, Buck, I thought you were gonna behave yourself." he returned.  
  
Buck started to laugh, but stopped short, coughing, an arm wrapping around his ribs.  
  
"Bastard!" hissed the soldier in the cell. Rising to his feet, he reached for his belt and slowly, dramatically, drew his long, 12" dagger. "I'm gonna slit you open from hip to hip." He took a step toward the wounded man.  
  
"No!" came a yell from the shadows.  
  
The soldier spun about, searching for the source.  
  
Forgetting their previous assignment, three of the soldiers started for the cell, leaving only two at close hand to the captured agents.  
  
It was the chance Josiah had been waiting for.  
  
Lowering his left shoulder, he slammed to the side, smashing the nearest soldier against the wall with such force, the soldier grunted only once before falling to the floor, unconscious. Before the other could react, the big man swung his cuffed hands around and up, catching the other soldier under the chin, snapping his head up and back.  
  
The soldier stumbled back only to be followed by another sledge hammer of a blow that dropped him like a sack of rocks.  
  
The three who had been moving away, started to turn at the sounds behind them.  
  
But Chris took a running leap at them, turning his body in mid air, and slamming into all three. He fell to the floor with two of them and Instantly began to kick his sharp toed riding boots and swinging his cuffed hands like a mad man.  
  
Josiah was quick to follow his commander, lifting a big foot and kicking the third man in the gut.  
  
The soldier in the cell looked back at the fight, enraged that these.... bugs dared to challenge them. Not only challenged them... but killed their Lady! "Die!" he snarled. "You all gonna die!" While the two agents were busy with his comrades, he turned to glare at the man hanging on the bars. He pointed his dagger at him. "Starting with you, you slimy bastard!"  
  
"Stay where you are!" Buck warned, but he wasn't looking at the man threatening him. He was looking at the shadows beyond.  
  
"Stay?" the soldier laughed. "Why the hell would I stay?" He continued forward, swirling the sharp point of his weapon at the prisoner.  
  
Suddenly there was a boy standing in front of him.  
  
The guard stopped, staring down at him. "What the hell are you doing here? Your the General's wonder boy." he mumbled his confusion.  
  
J.D. swallowed hard, but doubled up his fists and stood as tall as he could. "How brave you must be to try and murder some beat up and hurt...."  
  
He waved the dagger in the air. "What's wrong with you? You're wearing the same uniform I am. You're one of us! You're..."  
  
"I killed her!" J.D. screamed at him, nodding his head toward the woman's body.  
  
The guard's eyes narrowed. "What?" he hissed. His eyes shifted sharply at the wounded man behind the boy as it suddenly became obvious.  
  
In his condition, Wilmington wouldn't have had the strength to kill his lady. She was too strong! Too brilliant! Too cruel! He had to have had help... he had to have had the boy!  
  
"Your treacherous, little bastard!" The soldier took a step toward the boy.  
  
Chris slammed his cuffed fists against the back of the man's head.  
  
Hurt and dazed, he dropped to his knees at J.D.'s feet.  
  
Instantly, the boy reacted, punching him right in the nose.  
  
The soldier fell back, this time landing at Chris' feet.  
  
The agent finished the fight with a solid kick, knocking him unconscious.  
  
Then it was quiet. So quiet, J.D. had to wonder if they had really won or not.  
  
Chris glanced around, his own rage desperate to keep on fighting. But all six of their guards now laid on the floor in some disarray of unconsciousness. There was no one else to fight! His eyes found the gray uniformed boy still standing between him and his friend.  
  
"Chris!" Buck yelled, seeing his friend take a step forward, the same step the soldier had taken.  
  
J.D.'s eyes went big. He stepped back.  
  
"Chris, leave him alone!" Buck snapped. "He isn't with them!"  
  
Josiah came over to stand beside Chris. Though he eyed the boy suspiciously, he leaned in front of Chris, stopping him. "Just who, Brother Bucklin, is he with?" he wanted to know.  
  
"Me." Buck answered without hesitation. He reached out to grab J.D.'s arm to steady himself. "The kid's with me. He saved my life. An' I'm gettin' him out of here."  
  
"What's he doing here in the first place?" Chris demanded.  
  
Buck matched him, glare for glare. "Saving my life!" He titled his head to one side. "Which you shoulda been doin' if you had gotten here in time. But, noooo, you took your own sweet time gettin' here. So the kid had to step up and do the deed."  
  
Chris's jaw dropped.  
  



	8. Chapter 7

When Adventures Begin.  
By The Chronicler

Chapter Seven

"Um.... Nathan?" Vin called back to his ship mate.

"Yea?" Nathan answered, but he was too busy arming, or trying to figure out how to arm, a small, odd looking cannon

"We have company." Vin leaned over the deck rail. "And they don't look friendly."

Nathan's hands froze, grenade held inches from the barrel. He looked up at his comrad.

But it was Lord Fogg who answered. "Gentlemen." he called to them, his commanding tone bringing instant calm to the agents. "Remember: this is expected." he continued as he walked down the middle of the bridge toward the observation deck.

"Yea? Were we expectin' them to be lead by that Mississippi boy?" Vin wanted to know.

The British man hesitated, frowning. "It was conceivable." he admitted. He stood behind the Texan and looked over his shoulder.

It was a small company of ten men who made their way through the tall grasses of the river bank heading toward the air ship's mooring anchors. From there they could call down the lift. Once in the lift, as long as those aboard didn't lock the gears, they would be boarding as quickly as ninety seconds... give or take depending on weight.

Vin Tanner started to lift his rifle, preparing to take aim.

"Hold your fire." Fogg instructed him, before turning back and calling for his man. "Passpartout."

"Hold my fire? I can get most of them from here!" Vin protested.

"Yes, you could. And you would be telling the Prometheuse that they need to send more than ten men!" Fogg snapped. "We let them board, we show them hospitality." He smiled a cold hard smile. "As I understand it, you Americans have a unique view of hospitality." He looked the young Texan up and down. "You do know how to use something smaller and... more descrete than that rifle, I do hope."

Vin and Nathan glanced at each other.

* * *

Ezra Standish glanced up, more feeling than seeing the eyes watching their approach. He held his breath, waiting to hear the shots, feel the bullets, see the dying...

But it didn't happen.

"A problem, Standish?" the lieutenant asked, pausing at his side, his narrow eyes scanning him intently. When he could find no answer in the gambler's face, he looked up at the air ship nearly over there heads.

It was a pretty little air yacht, harmless looking when compared to the great Prometheus across the river. But, the Lieutenant had seen the British Aurora in action enough times to know that it wasn't the craft, but the men within that were the threat. And he still wasn't sure if this Standish kid wasn't one of them.

"Nothing unexpected, Lieutenant." Ezra answered smoothly. "Our approach has been observed."

Again the man looked at him, frowning. "How do you know?" he wanted to know.

Ezra smiled. "The same way I know when to lay the bet down and when to fold." He pushed pass the soldier and continued on, saying over his shoulder "I'm smarter than you are." With that, he paused, glancing about. Then he saw what he was looking for and took the three steps to a drooping willow tree. Reaching up into the branches, he shook free a heavy rope.

The Lieutenant's head came up. "The mooring line." he observed.

The gambler glanced at him as his men gathered around them. "Still don't trust me?" he wondered.

The Lieutenant didn't hesitate in answering with a simple "Yes."

Ezra flashed a hurt, shocked look, which neither man took serious. With a pull on the mooring line, he set into action the cranks and screws that lowered the small, six man lift slowly down.

It was a beautiful lift, unlike the mechanical box that served the Prometheus. A fine, polished oak floor with fine silver cage laced with copper pressed ivy vines and leaves. A lamb skin covered rail ran along the inside about waist high.

Two of the men hurried forward to guide the lift down until it settled on the ground. Then they slid the wrap around gates open and waited for further instructions from their commander and the gambler.

Ezra bowed his head to the lieutenant, flashing him a venomous smile. "After you?"

"No.... after you." He returned the smile with the exact same amount of venom.

"As you wish." Ezra stepped into the cage.

"You four wait for us to send the lift back down." the Lieutenant commanded half of his men as he motioned for the other four to crowd into the lift. Then he stepped in and the gate was slid close. "Mr Standish." he announced his readiness with a glance at the gambler.

Ezra smiled. "Going up." He tugged on a pull line.

Clicks and clangs sounded, followed by a metallic cranking sound from above. The carry lines pulled taunt. The lift lurched slightly, its passengers snatching at the rail. Then it was moving, slowly but smoothly, up towards the airship above.

It scarcely took longer than a minute and a half, just inside two minutes, but it seemed to take very much longer.

The Lieutenant found himself crossing his arms over his chest, his toe tapping in irritation... as much at having to wait so long to what he was sure was more of a fight than the gambler was letting on as he was as that damn, irksome humming that same troublesome gambler was occupying himself with.

It seemed the higher they got the louder the boy got. Until, finally, reaching the top of the lift, the Lieutenant spun about and snapped at Standish "Would you please' shut up!"

Ezra smiled apologetically, bowing his head in recognition of the request.

The lift jerked as it slid into its anchors. Clanks sounded, announcing that it was locked into place.

The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed, suspicious even still of the gambler. But, when he heard his men opening the gates, he turned to face what might be there to face.

A heavy fist slammed into the Lieutenant's face, smashing his nose and throwing him back against two of his own men.

Before any of them could respond to the sudden attack, Ezra moved. A derringer appeared in the palm of his hand. He pressed it up and under the heavy vest of the Prometheus' soldier standing in front of him and fired.

The sound was muffled by the man's own body, but the physical reaction could not be missed. He jerked forward, stumbled a step, then fell dead at Lord Philease Fogg's feet.

The Lieutenant's own men shoved the hurt and stunned commander aside as they struggled to raise their own weapons. They had been at the ready until they, too, were distracted by Ezra's humming. And now that they were under attack, they found themselves at a distinct disadvantage.

Ezra was turning toward the remaining men, his derringer searching for a next victim when the Lieutenant was pushed against him, pinning him back against the corner of the lift.

One of the soldiers made a lunge for Fogg, but the Lord was ready for him. Grabbing his out stretched gun hand in a steel grip, the powerful man jerked the arm up over the soldier's head, giving it a twist.

There was a sickly snap and the soldier opened his mouth to scream.

But Fogg's fist slammed into his throat, cruching it, and silencing any sound that he might have made. Turning, Fogg whipped the man out of the lift and slammed him against the wall where he dropped him like a discarded sack of trash. Then he turned to see what else might come out of the lift.

"Watch it!" Nathan warned as he leaped pass the Lord, his lightening quick hands whipping back over his shoulder and, even quicker, coming forward again.

There was a whistle as something passed through the air. Then a thud and a gurgle as one of the men in the lift slammed back, the hilt of a knife protruding from his throat. His cocked pistol fell from his useless fingers, falling to the floor of the lift, where it hit with enough force that it fired, sending a bullet shooting directly at Lord Fogg.

"Master!" Passpartout cried, slamming his Lord aside.

The bullet hit the edge of the cage just in front of the valet's face and ricochet off, striking Passpartout in the arm. With a cry, he stumbled back.

"Passpartout!" Fogg snarled. Enraged beyond control at seeing his loyal servant and friend fall, he turned back to the lift.

Ezra struggled with the Lieutenant over control of the derringer. His hands were pinned back against the cage of the lift, the rail pressing painfully across his back. The soldier was trying to drive his knee up against the young southerner, but Ezra had turned his body just enough that he only hit his thiegh and not the more sensitive groin.

"You traitorous bastard!" the Lieutenant sputtered, spraying Ezra's face with spit and blood from his own smashed nose.

Ezra turned his face away as he twisted and struggled, trying to free his gun hand.... either one. There was another derringer hidden in the other sleeve as well. But as long as the bigger, stronger, better trained fighter had him pinned, he could not put either of them in use.

"Get the hell off of 'im!" roared a heavy Texas accent. A gloved hand dropped on the back of the Lieutenant's head. With a quick snap, it bounced the man's head forward, slamming it against the bars of the cage just over Ezra's shoulder.

Instantly his grip on Ezra loosened, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head.

Ezra reacted at once. Shaking loose, his derringer moved into place and pressed against the Lieutenant's gut. "Did you' ever make the wrong bet?!" he hissed, pulling the trigger.

The man jumped back, his hands clawing at the hole in the middle of his gut. With a gasp, he dropped to his knees.

"Get him out!" Ezra growled, pushing him back towards the entrance before he had even fell to the floor. "Don't let them bleed in the lift! It'll warn the others." He started pass, but Vin Tanner grabbed his arm and pushed him back in the corner.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you are doin'?" he demanded.

Ezra glanced at Fogg as the man twisted the head of the last soldier, snapping his neck. Then he turned back to Vin, his head tilting to one side. "I am bluffing my way through a losing hand." he answered, his tone cold and angry. "Now, there are four more rouges down there, any of which could raise the alarm if we do not silence them immediately!" His green eyes narrowed. "And, I assure you, I wish that alarm to be raised no more than you do."

Vin glared at him a moment longer, before releasing him. Spinning about he grabbed the man Nathan had taken down and started to drag him out of the lift.

With no one left to kill, Fogg turned his attention to his valet. "Passpartout." he growled, crouching down in front of him. "You fool."

The little Frenchmen blinked up at him. "Is the Master well? Was he hurt?" he wanted to know, reaching out for him with his uninjured arm.

"Was I?" Fogg shook his head in disbelief. "You stupid, little fool." he chuckled. Grabbing him by his suit vest, he hauled him to his feet.

Passpartout groaned and he clutched his wounded arm to his chest.

"I'll take him." Nathan offered, stepping up and pulling the valet's good arm over his shoulders.

"Take good care of him, Agent." the British Lord told him, leaving no doubt in his tone that it was as much a warning as a request.

"But I am alright, Master Fogg." Passpartout protested, though he didn't resist as Nathan lead him away.

Vin dragged out the last man and rolled the body against the wall with the others. Then he and Ezra stepped back.

"So.... are you gentlemen ready for the next hand?" Ezra wondered.

Fogg reached across the front of the gambler, blocking him from sending the lift back down. His dark eyes scanned the him, taking in every little detail, before he asked "just who exactly are you bluffing?"

Ezra smiled slightly. "Is there absolutely no one that holds the littlest spark of faith in me?"

"Should we?"

His smile faded. In all honesty, he answered "No." He straightened up, and turned his attention to reloading his derringer and sliding it back up his sleeve. "Let's lay our cards out, Lord' Fogg. I am on my side and only my side! All I care about is my freedom and the freedom of my mother. The only way I can achieve that is to get her away from that... that monstrosity. And at this moment you and this airship is the best bet of that happening."

"Where's your mother?" Fogg wanted to know.

"And Chris and Josiah?" Vin added.

The gambler stiffened. "Agents Larabee and Sanchez were taken into custody."

"What?" Vin advanced on the man, but Fogg held a hand up in-between them. "You let them?" the Texan continued. "And what about your mother? She get the suite while the Captain gets a cell?"

"My mother gets a death sentence if those men below report back that something up here has gone awry!" Ezra snapped. "Now, shall we take care of business, or shall I give you blow by blow until we've both miss the opportunity to get what we've put out lives on the line for?!"

Vin glared a moment longer, then, finding he couldn't tell if he was being lied to or not, he looked up at Phileas Fogg.

Fogg sighed, nodding once. "Bring them up. But, be aware, Standish, you are not the only gambler here... and I do not lose!"

* * *

General Coal's eye narrowed. He leaned on the map table and peered through the front windows of the Prometheus' bridge.

From that very position he had, with the aid of a looking glass, watched his men cross the river, and disappear under in the brush and trees under the Aurora. That had been an hour ago.

And the Aurora still floated above the tree tops, unmoving, un retiring, unsurendering.

He had sent the escort down to the cells with Larabee and his man two hours ago. And Margarita had yet to appear and cock-a-doodle about her new toys.

"Something's wrong." Coal growled.

"Sir?" asked the navigator.

Coal glanced at him sharply. Then he straightened up and tugged on his uniform blouse. "Commander, raise anchor." he ordered.

"Yes, sir." was the crisp reply of the bridge commander who quickly turned to give orders to the deck crew.

"And our destination, sir?" the navigator asked, preparing the table for his maps.

"There." Coal answered, pointing out the front window.

The navigator stopped as he looked out the window. "The Aurora, sir?"

"Gunner, I want a bead on that airship, ready to fire when and if I, and only I, give the order." Coal continued as he turned and headed for the exit.

"To have a word with our guests." was the General's only answer before he was gone.

* * *

Passpartout's eyes went big.

Nathan stepped back. "What? Does the arm still hurt?" He reached out to check the bandage again, but stopped when the valet shook his head.

"Look." Passpartout pointed. "The Prometheus... its coming."

Nathan turned to see.

Sure enough, across the river, the huge ship was slowly turning toward them.

The medic spun about and reached for the alarm bell. But before he could pull it, Fogg, Vin, and Ezra hurried into the room.

"Master! The prometheus!" Passpartout started.

Fogg nodded, leading the way to the steering ball. "Passpartout, can you take the helm?"

The valet was quick to rise to his feet and nod. "Yes, Master, Passpartout ready to serve." he assured, snapping off a salute with the wrong hand, since the proper on was tied up in a sling.

Despite the man's injuries, Fogg showed absolutely no doubt in his abilities. "Good man. Raise anchor and get us out where we can maneuver." he answered as he grabbed the small canon, a riffle, and a few other odd bits of weaponry. "Gentlemen, arm yourselves." he advised the agents. "This is where things get interesting."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight 

J.D. stopped, his hand going to the wall.

"What is it?" Chris hissed behind him. When the boy didn't immediately answer, he motioned for Josiah to take Buck, then he moved up beside their guide. "Damn it, boy, if you're leadin' us into a trap..."

"Chris..." Buck groaned. "He's not gonna..."

"Can't you feel it?" J.D. looked up at Chris, his hazel eyes wide and bright. He looked back at Buck. "Can't you feel it?"

Buck frowned. "Kiddo, I'm doin' my damnest not to feel a thing." he admitted, leaning against Josiah.

"We're moving!" When the three men just looked at him, J.D. threw up his hands. "The Prometheus is moving! You can feel the engines. It vibrates through the floor beams. They weren't cushioned right, so the vibration..."

"Moving?" Chris repeated.

"Captain, if the Prometheus is moving... is it moving on the Aurora?" Josiah wondered.

"Shit. The Aurora!" Chris looked about. "Damn it all to hell. What's so tough about puttin' in a window?"

"We're three layers in." J.D. pointed out. "All you'd see with a window here is the next room."

The agent's hard, blue eyes snapped about to glare at him.

"J.D." Josiah quickly intervened. "We need to get off this thing. Without too much of a fight." He glanced down at Buck.

J.D. followed his look, knowing that his new friend couldn't take too much more fighting. He was barely conciouse as is. Forget about avoiding a fight. They needed to get him to a doctor! But...

J.D. shook his head. "Every way we turn, they're gonna be thick as a Boston fog."

Buck huffed. "Never seen a Boston fog."

"Never seen a fog I can't cut through." Chris added. "Forget getting off this boat. If this thing is after the Aurora, we gotta stop it." He turned so as to be face to face with their new ally. "How do we stop the Prometheus?"

J.D. bit his lip.

* * *

Maude Standish's eyes narrowed as she felt the deck beneath her feet shift.

Slowly the scene in front of her shifted as the Prometheus moved its huge bulk until it was facing the opposite shore and the Aurora.

"Where is she going?" the lady gambler wondered.

The guard assigned to her shrugged. "We are crossing the river to claim the airship." he explained.

Maude turned to glare at him. "No, stupid! Where's the Aurora?" she snapped.

The guard blinked. He turned his head to look... then spun about to look in a new direction... then spun about again and look in yet a new direction. Finally, pale and stupified, he looked up at the woman and exclaimed "She's gone!"

Maude Standish groaned loudly, before turning and stomping off toward the bridge.

"Ma'am?" the soldier called as he hurried after. "Ma'am... where are you going?"

Ignoring him, she pushed her way into the command center of the Prometheus.

"Lady Standish!" snapped one of the men within as he came to his feet to meet her. "You shouldn't be in here."

"Shoot it down!" she commanded.

"What now?" the deck Captain demanded, wondering why it was always his' shift that went straight to hell.

Maude slammed the soldier aside and repeated to the Captain "Shoot it down!" She threw a finger at the window. "Shoot the Aurora down! Now!"

Her guard had come up behind her. "But your son is on the Aurora." he protested.

Maude spun on him, slapping him across the face. "That bastard is not my son! That is a traitor! And he is stealing the Aurora from our Lord right under your stupid noses!" She spun back toward the Captain. "Shoot it down! Before he gets away!"

"Lady Standish, our orders is to take the Aurora. Not destroy it." the Captain answered. He glanced at her guard. "Take her to her cabin." That taken care of, he started to turn back to his duties.

But Maude would not be so easily dismissed. Yanking her arm out of reach of the guard, she put her hands on her hips. "Take the Aurora?" She chuckled. "You ignorant slug, you don't have the forte to tie your boot laces, much less match wits with Ezra P. Standish!" She waved a hand at the window. "He can find the fifth ace out of brand new deck with little more than a sigh." She pointed a finger at him. "And he will get away with that little ace out there if you do not shoot him out of the sky now!"

The Captain paused, glancing back at her. He could tell she was serious, dead serious. She wanted him to shoot her very own son out of the sky. She was either the most loyal soul to their great Lord, or, straight up, insane. Either choice, if wrong, could end not only his career, but his life.

Grinding his teeth, the Captain turned back to his crew. "Lieutenant Wong, arm the air-to-air cannons. But no one fires unless I give the command."

"Yes, sir." snapped a small, heavily armed oriental man, before he spun about, pointed to two other men, then lead them out onto the deck.

"Is that all?" Maude demanded. "Have you not been listening to me? You can not fence with that boy!"

The Captain spun on her. "For a woman so disgusted by a man's betrayal, you sure do sound like a proud mother." he accused. He held up a hand, thinking he was taking control of this conversation. "Enough is enough, Lady Standish. It is your cabin or the brig. Frankly I don't give a damn which. But you will get off my bridge and you will do it now!"

Maude Standish stood perfectly still for a moment, the crew waiting for her reaction. Then she smirked. "Of course, Captain." she said, transforming before their eyes into the riverboat Lady she was so well known for. "After all, it is your bridge... it is your life." Whisking about, her skirts snapping with the quick move, she floated out the door.

The Captain watched her go, not entirely sure that he had won the battle.

* * *

The engine crew busied themselves about the room, manning this and that, checking that gears turned as they were supposed to, seeing that bolts were tight and equipment was locked into place, making absolutely sure that the Prometheus ran perfectly smooth.

"So, does anyone know where the word sabotage comes from?" Josiah whispered as he moved behind them to take his position at the top of the ladder.

He, Chris Larabee, and J.D. stood on the cat walk above the engine room. Buck, too unstable on his feet to move quietly, remained just outside the door in the hallway, keeping watch in case anyone approached. There was only two ways off the catwalk: back the way they had come, or down through the busy engine room.

"Swiss, protest, wooden shoes tossed into the gears." J.D. shrugged.

Josiah paused to look at the boy, impressed and more than a little startled to find anyone, much less this out-of-nowhere kid, who knew such an off the wall tidbit of information.

Chris was less impress. "Problem is we don't have any wooden shoes." He threw a glare at the little stranger and snarled "Any other suggestions?"

J.D. looked up at him and grinned. "There's a reason they're being so careful." He pointed toward a slowly turning rod that ran from the gears in the center of the engine room, up, pass the catwalk, continued on through the ceiling, and on to other parts of the ship. "The spinny part... it runs up through the ship and turns the propeller. We stop that..."

"We stop the engine. Stop this tub dead in her tracks." Josiah finished. He glanced at Chris. "Same principle, even if we don't have wooden shoes."

"Great." Chris glared at the boy a moment longer, before turning his eyes to the going-ons below, searching for anything that just might possibly be out of place, anything that might indicate a trap. He was still trying to figure out whether or not they could trust him... well, if he' could trust him. Buck was already in love with the annoying little runt, and Josiah looked to be quickly following suit. Didn't seem to matter to either of the men that this John Daniels Dunne was wearing the uniform of the enemy.

"John!" Josiah suddenly hissed, snapping Chris' attention back to the topic of his thoughts.

The boy had slipped pass Josiah and was sliding down the ladder.

"Shit!" the agent cursed. He started after the little traitor, which he was now sure J.D. was, but Josiah grabbed his arm.

"Too late. They see him."

J.D.'s boots clunked on the lower floor. "Chief!" he called to the man standing on a small platform, directing the crew.

He glanced at the boy. "Humph. Whatta ya doin' down 'ere, pup?" he wanted to know. "Ah thought all ya smart asses kept to da sunshine decks."

"Sunshine doesn't interest me much. All the interesting happenings are happing down here." J.D. shrugged.

The Chief barked out a laugh. "'Course it does, pup. 'Course it does. but ah ain't in the habit of entertaining', so..."

The boy inventor smiled. "I was wondering how the new designs were doing. Did the gear shift improve the crank turn?" he wanted to know. In all honesty, he did want to know. He had worked hard trying to improve the engine for General Coal. It hurt, the idea that he was going to destroy all that work.

The Chief huffed. "Damn glorious, pup. Smooth as sippin' brandy, she is. Not one slip since ya put in that new contraption. " He waved a hand at the gears at the base of the shaft that ran up through the ship. "Welcome to take a look for yerself. Jus' mind ya, ya fall under foot and ya will get stomped on."

J.D. snapped off a playful salute. "Don't worry. I'll stay out of the way." he assured. Then, moving pass the Chief's pedestal, he made his way to the indicated destination, nodding hellos and offering smiles to the men he passed.

"What the hell is he doing?" Chris growled from above. "Why didn't he turn us in?"

"Maybe because he's on our side." Josiah ventured.

Chris grunted at that idea, pointing out "So everyone has been claiming lately." But, as he turned back to watch the kid, J.D. still hadn't raised the alarm. Damn, maybe the kid was on their side... or he was one hell of a lier. "Josiah, grab Buck. Find yourself the nearest hole and get off this damn thing. If you can't get back to the Aurora, make for the woods." he ordered.

"What about you? And young John?" Josiah wanted to know.

"If he's on our side, I'll get him out." Chris promised. "If he betrays us... it will be the last thing he does... even if it's the last thing I do."

Josiah opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. The Captain was right. And, even if he wasn't, he was still the Captain. With a sigh, he patted his friend on the shoulder. "Don't get yourself killed." he whispered, before slipping back into the hallway behind them where they had left the wounded Buck.

Chris watched him leave, then leaned back against the wall where he could watch the boy while still being, more than less, out of sight. With nothing else to do but wait, he pulled his commandeered revolver from his belt and began to check it over, being sure he was ready for when the trouble started.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Nathan wanted to know.

"Up." Lord Fogg answered, short but simple. He was used to giving short, simple answers and that being that. After all, he was Lord Phyliss Fogg.

Then again, these were Americans.

"Up where?" Vin Tanner wanted to know, not at all comfortable with the strange, little frenchman steering his ship. Admittedly, it freed him to handle the guns which he was much more fluent in, but, still...

It was his' ship! His' Aurora!

Fogg glanced at the young Texan. "Up above the Prometheus." he expanded, irritated that he was being question at a time like this. There was a reason he had left Verne behind!

Vin opened his mouth for another question, but, to Fogg's great relief, Passpartout came to his master's rescue.

"The Prometheus is only air ship... most time." the little frenchman explained. "She's not putted together to fight other air ships. All her guns are pointed down... most time. The Arouras... they go up. Not down... most time."

"Most time." Fogg agreed, smiling slightly. "Quite right, Passpartout."

The valet beamed at the praise.

"The Auroras?" Nathan spoke up. "More than one?"

"No." Fogg huffed. "There is only one Aurora. My' Aurora. This..." he waved a hand at the derrigible around them. "This is a copy."

"Master." Passpartout called. "The Prometheus is looking for us."

Fogg stepped out onto the observation deck and stood beside Vin. "So she is." he observed, watching the huge ship below them slowly turn, men rushing about her decks, leaning over rails with spy glasses, trying to find the Aurora. "Rather two dimensional, aren't they?"

The Texan understood that, to Fogg's surprise. Putting his rifle to his shoulder and taking aim, he mumbled "A good hunter knows a bear worth his salt can go to the branches as easily as to ground."

Fogg chuckled. "Ah, proverbs from the wild country, I assume." He set a hand on the barrel of the gun, pushing it aside. When Vin frowned up at him, he pointed out "A very good hunter knows when to hold his fire."

"Proverb from a dandy fix hunt?"

Fogg's amusement wavered, but held. "Something like that." he answered, resisting the urge to point out that that something' tended to be Russian spies or Asian assassins.

Knowing his master, Passpartout giggled.

Glancing at him, the English Lord smiled. "Passpartout, hold us steady directly over her propeller." he instructed. "Mr. Tanner, if you would be so kind, save your expert marksmanship until you must give cover for your companions. After all, the only way off that monstrosity is out across the deck... which, you might have noticed, is in a bit of an excited state."

Vin blinked at him. Then, with an agitated grunt, rested his rifle back down. "I'm used to waiting." he admitted, crossing his arms and leaning them on the rail where he could look down and watch the Prometheus below.

"Well, I hate waiting." Nathan mumbled. "Who knows what could be happening to them down there." He threw a glare at Ezra who sat at the map table, sipping at brandy.

The gambler lifted his glass, offering "Patients is a virtue, Mr. Jackson."

"Indeed." Lord Fogg's eyes narrowed as he was reminded of the double agent. "Patients is a virtue... for some. For others it may only be what keeps them alive."

tbc


End file.
